Ad Hoc
by Rags Lee
Summary: Chance. A chance for greatness, a chance for the aristocracy to prove its authority and worth, a chance for salvation and damnation when it all comes crashing down in a true 40k serial escalation.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Will…_

And bony tentacles snaked forward unto their goal. Should a human have been present it would have compared them to the fingers on its simian hands, mercifully, for the human, it was not present. Within their strange flesh emotions best likened to ambition, intent, determination and desire were carried forward. An artifact from a consumed aeon bopped in invisible currents.

_Will…_

And it was constructed from lost elements. Its shape constantly appeared to change; fractals, thorns, theorems and…other shapes flowed over in each other, granting new meanings as it erased old ones, others interwove into new forms and yet others ripped themselves apart in angles that most sapient minds couldn't understand.

_Will…_

And the tentacles gently slithered around the object, afraid that they would cut themselves upon its sharp points and razor like angles, and then they gripped firm. The tentacles increased their grip more and more. Until eventually the pressure became too great. The fickle laws of the matterium demanded that the separate edges of both blur and then become a thing of the immutable past.

_Will…_

And metaphysical entities crossed over. Each a distinct part of a bright star system that stretched outwards from a single great line, the here and the now. As the bright point reached further the line remained still and yet moved. A cosmic string of matter that vibrated maddingly in the currents of the warp. An interplay that nothing understood.

_Will…_

And force was exerted. The system changed the position of a constituent part. An angle that intersected within. It rotated and twisted itself until extensions tinged against others. The whole was more magnificent than the parts which were separate and yet indistinguishable due to the promise it made. Stretching across the warp to that twitching string of reality where part remained. Running parallel before intersecting so as to become rigid.

_Will…_

And light and darkness raced between eternally changing nodes of identities. It twisted and changed and altered itself within their framework. It needed to alter the paths taken. And as it did so did paths open and close beyond its awareness and thus control. The light became an all pervasive power which introduced shadow. A jet black bolt rang out at the periphery in the center, a terrible white light.

_Will…_

And it intervened along with the rest of its intertwined self. A murmur accompanied the never ending silence of the cut, carried along shores of old greatness. It sang aloud of the fluid rigidity of the bahzhakhain, of its triumph ringing sharply into the echoing voids, heralding the dawn of the unforsaken memory.

_Faith…_

The Warp sang back to it. The approaching sound was a cacophony of discord and harmony that somehow resonated with their own song. Within, without and beneath the rippling line curling into a smile dawned something searingly cold. It was vast. Glorious. And above all, terrible. Somewhere… a god was laughing at them.

A laugh, louder and more demanding than the rest, boomed over them. Another one, and then another bark and then he opened his eyes. Light silhouetted a shape, beckoning him to rise. The memory of the dream driven away by incessant barking he rose from his bed. The old man had something…


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter one**

_Sacrifice or be sacrificed._

Saint Mariken.

More and more clouds gathered above Gelen Field, slowly obscuring the fierce duo of summer suns, small blessing for the sweating men on the ground. The wind picked up as well, granting more respite from the heat. The yellowing grass and shrubs seemed to ripple in the air like water. Pollen, leaves and petals danced on the rhythm of the changing wind.

Leod found it hypnotizing; it reminded him of the sea he had seen in happier days, when the world was less grey. Though even then there had been a dark grey band on the horizon. His dear deceased older brother Galmod had told him that it was the herald of a fierce storm but that he should not fear it, the sturdy stone walls of Blachernae would weather it. He had believed him, off course he had still prayed to the Heaven Gods to defeat the Storm Gods as quickly as possible. Victory itself was inevitable, the only question was how costly it would be and how long it would take. The storm had wrecked ships, flattened houses, destroyed roofs and flooded villages, but the walls had held as he held back his fear. They had all made a sacrifice afterwards; he had given his favorite toy. A small carefully painted wooden toy of the legendary knight Arras. Plain as it was it meant the world to a small boy; it was a powerful token of gratitude.

A sad smile split his face. That was a lifetime ago. The coming storm wouldn't be just celestial, but the more potent for it. He prayed to the Suns and the Eagle and the Powers to defeat the Storm Gods and their monsters, just defeat them, nothing much, nothing impressive, whatever the cost, just to end it. To sweep away the hideous grotesques ravaging Puntland at the sea, bordering his kingdom of Erep. To root out the Grey Cloud's corruption oozing down the tortured flanks of Highspring. But most of all to defeat the vile Storm armies that rose up after the light in the sky and tsunami three years ago. One of them now arrayed in front of him.

'My lord Leod, the Royal Levy of Erep stands ready for your inspection.'

Leod snapped out of his daydreaming. His second in command approached, accompanied by two blood-guards and two hunting dogs, the dignified and elder count Eomund. A man whose nobility, valor and fierceness was deeply respected by peasant and noble alike. It was in no small part due to his support that Leod had been able to actually become king after duke Yzer had died in battle. All the good that would do.

'Thank you my friend.'

Leod wanted to say more but his voice started to break so he spoke no more. He swallowed hard and then he placed his right fist over his heart.

'An honor Eomund, an honor...'

The forty-six year old count looked at his king. Leod had been a fine knight, almost stereotypically so. Tall, muscular, fair of build, a fanatical zeal for justice and honor, driven by passion and piety; a true knight. But he still had much to learn when it came to leading an army. Though he would never admit it; unless the Heavens themselves intervened there was little chance for Leod to catch up. But Eomund made sure that there were no outward sign of his doubt. He placed his right fist against his heart and made a short bow with his head.

'The honor is mine my lord.'

Eomund bowed forward so that no one could hear him whisper.

'We are not dead yet Leod. You do well to remember that in front of the men. They have it difficult enough as it is. To see their king so resigned will wreak havoc on their morale. And it is morale that has carried these few survivors so far. To never falter, to not even blink in the face of the howling Storm.'

Leod bowed his head to the wisdom in Eomund's words.

'I understand my friend. Now let us inspect the men for our next glorious victory.' There was a queasy smirk on Leod's face. At least the man would go out with his sense of humor Eomund thought in his heart of hearts.

The green, gently rolling field was rapidly darkening under the cloud cover. The dark grey swirling clouds were crashing into each other, mirroring the mortal battle about to enfold below.

Leod, Eomund and their blood-guards strode towards the ranks of assembled knights. For a second Leod simply stood and watched, pride swelled up in his heart, they were _his_ knights. Proud, strong frames packed in heraldic armor. Even in the dimming light their armor shone bright. Banners, held aloft by the handful of remaining squires, waved proudly in the wind. The mighty steeds that would carry them into battle were by their side, anxiously scrapping their hooves into the warm, dark soil, as ready for battle as their masters. Even the peasants further along and behind the knights had a semblance of order and pride not normally seen in their stunted and dirty frames. Leod's spirit was uplifted, there would be no defeat whilst these strong men remained!

Leod walked past the assembled nobility, many of them his kin, however distant. Many of them had blood closer to the old royal family than he. Something they were all aware off. But in the end he was invested with royal authority and they were in his comitatus, and not the other way around.

Leod often stopped to have a moment with the knight in front of him. To relive a joined memory here, to share a joke there or an appreciative slap on the shoulder of that one. Comrades and retainers all of them.

Then Leod reached the masses of commoners. Ill equipped with a motley array of spears, axes, maces or a rusty sword, few had any type of armor safe a basic wooden shield. Their training and discipline wasn't much better. There was also a profound lack of archer support. For a moment he considered walking away as would normally be the case, a 'king' does not associate with peasants. But not this time, this time the commoners had held their ground where those of nobler stock had fallen, this time the Storm Sworn outnumbered them almost four to one. The ranks of the honorable had not shrunk by war and disease alone. The situation was made worse by the heavy use of their foul Stormcraft. This time the honorable needed every gram they could scrape from the bottom of the barrel. This time they were all going to die anyway.

And so Leod continued on, talking, joking, denying everyone's mortality. This was more generalized though, he didn't really know any of them. Only the wealthy free farmers caused a spark of recognition here and there. From the corner of his eye he could see the surprise on his blood-guards' faces. He was intensely relieved, far more then he would ever admit, to notice that Eomund gave him a short nod of approval.

After he had finished speaking to the peasants Leod returned to the front. A drizzle came down but he ignored it. Leod approached his pride and joy; a powerfully build black steed, Onyx. Smoothly mounting Onyx Leod rode forwards so that all could see and hear him announce the basic battle plan. He, Eomund, baron Udaras and count Deorwine had spend most of the day devising a battle plan to try and sell their lives as dearly as possible. They had already told their personal retainers and they were in agreement with their lords. Overhead lightning cracked and Leod looked up. It was if not only Man but also the Gods had come here to decide the victor. The scene of destruction above to rival the destruction of the Royal Levy below…or the Storm Sworn.

A thought had struck Leod like a thunderbolt, or a spark of divine inspiration. The storm was a double edged sword. There was a chance now, a small one, but a chance nonetheless, to win. It would be risky almost to the point of suicide, but what was there to lose? If things didn't work out as hoped then they would simply die sooner before the Storm. With a nervous smile he threw their plans to the changing wind and gambled it all.

Leod noticed that his voice sounded calmer than he actually felt as he started to explain his plan. Instead of defending they would attack, now, hard. Leod counted on the long hot march to have weakened the enemy and how a charge was the last anyone expected. They would be counting heavily on the storm's wind and rain to curb the Storm Sworn's ranged ability. Instead of a formal one sided shoving match there would be a desperate all or nothing attack when they weren't ready. The peasants needed to hold their hearts and minds in place and work with a plan, albeit a simple one, just keep going. The few archers they had would need to fight hand to hand. The knights needed to do more than ignore everyone safe their opposite number on the field of honor. They could do it, Leod had no doubt about that.

The new plan took those aware of the old one by surprise. It sounded almost insane, but Eomund liked it. Suns and Eagle! Here was divine intervention at work if he ever saw it. Some frowned though, they didn't like it. They were fighting for many things, honor and common decency for starters. Eomund quickly got them in line with a glance. Even if they didn't like it now was the time to stand together. They had to win this, their life and thus the fate of the entire war depended on this battle. But whatever happened the kingdom of Arreshi would never be the same again, for this is a war of wars. A tear rolled down his cheek.

'All hail king Leod! The Gods and Powers decreed his lordship, and right they are. For he has seen a way to victory, where none of us could see it. All hail king Leod, all hail king Leod!'

The cry was taken over by the entire army and the entire army cheered his name. Victory or a glorious death, they could live with that.

When the cheering calmed down Leod went into the specifics. Leod gave more detail and assigned positions to various nobles and their retainers. Struggling to be heard over the wind, a constant reminder of his need to hurry.

When done Leod ordered them to prepare for battle in a few minutes. Some took one last sip of mead, one last mouthful of food, made one last offering and took one last piss before taking positions.

Leod took the opportunity to call Eomund and the other high nobles to him. He dismounted so they could talk more easily. He grinned at the approaching Eomund, a wolfish grin on the count's face.

'Suns, Eagle, Powers and even the blank Grey; king Leod, we are going to win! I hope you now understand why old Yzer, may his good soul soar, chose you to succeed him. The other nobles voiced their agreement.

'Count Eomund is right, as always. I admit that I had my doubts when Yzer named you heir my king. You are young and there were…issues. Now such thoughts are no more, you are truly my king. The Suns, the Eagle and the Powers demand victory over their enemies and you are their weapon.'

Leod smiled but still felt slightly stung. Whatever the dying Yzer himself and so many others had said later on Leod still saw himself as a failure. Whatever he might have accomplished at that fateful day. Whatever else he might accomplish in the here and now. Duke Yzer was dead and he wasn't.

'Victory was always inevitable against the Storm Gods. Nothing is different from what it was before. Our king has merely shown us the way.'

Leod looked at count Deorwine for a moment before nodding. The sharp hawkish man bowed his head gently. Deorwine was honorable but traditional. Leod wasn't quite sure what to make of the count's words. Leod turned around to look across the dark field. The enemy host was now clearly visible. Hate and certainty stirred in Leod's chest. They would definitely need the aid of the Heavens for that inevitable victory. Just like in the stories he contemplated with bitter humor.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

The young, plain looking captain of the 5th company, 13th Novter 'Saints' regiment, officially infantry but actually mechanized with attrition build in, and proud of it, Tjitse Velden, paced through a poorly lit, hissing, gently vibrating and steaming metal corridor in the rarely used aft service decks. With little effort he made his way towards his company's makeshift briefing room.

Like many officers of the Imperial Guard Tjitse carried a large cane, part fashion, part disciplinary device. The blue hued crystal skull, Aquila carved into its forehead, was the most eye-catching decoration on the ivory cane. Tjitse was followed by a small entourage. Close enough to be useful but distant enough to remain respectful. Tjitse's thoughts were with his own surprise briefing, nine minutes and forty nine seconds ago.

The greying colonel Nuyen had called for his senior officers. There was a change of plans. Tjitse knew it was something big the moment he saw the look on that wrinkled old face. He could also tell that, heir apparent, major Stam didn't know about it. It was the look on fair Lotte's face that had told him that.

Tjitse blinked. His thoughts had wandered and he almost walked past the entrance to the briefing room. A quick ninety degree turn corrected that. He purposefully nodded to the shotgun wielding Naval armsmen at the entrance. Consistent use of "_small social interactions will have a non-negligible effect on the efficiency of the human resources with which the adept in question is in physical proximity for an extended period of time_", as he had been taught at the Scholam Militant. If the armsmen had noticed his earlier absentmindedness they showed no sign off it, and even if they had, Tjitse concluded, it wouldn't matter much. They were lower Naval ranks after all.

Had they been equals or superiors he knew he would never have allowed such a potential embarrassment.

Inside the metal, smoke filled room Tjitse scanned the interior. A brass caffeine boiler stood next to the entrance. Chairs and desks were placed in a half circle around a hololithic chart table in the centre. There was a dais with an ironwood lectern at the other end of the machine. The company banner hanging from the ceiling near the back of the wall. Making his way to the dais he took notice whom were awake enough to quickly salute him. Returning the gesture he made a quick headcount, only half the summoned personnel had arrived yet. Those who had arrived focused mainly on yawning, drinking caffeine and smoking.

Those more awake were keeping the sleep at bay by discussing exactly what the frak the inking audit at three in the artificial morning in a Throne damned hole of a Naval briefing room was about.

Tjitse put all but one of the dataslates he was carrying on the lectern. The captain's entourage took up position along the rear wall. A few of the officers took note of the unfamiliar faces. Most though were still locked in a heroic battle with their sleep. Tjitse leaned over the lectern and then placed a dataslate into a built in data-portal. Runes flashed to indicate that the machine spirits recognized each other. Tjitse stood immobile, his cane gripped tightly, until a second rune flared and he was satisfied. Gently he placed the cane in front of him on the lectern.

Once his captain was done sergeant Pyt, Tjitse's adjutant, handed him a cup of sweetened herbal infusion which he took with a grateful nod. Tjitse knew the refreshment would be just right. The sergeant was a dark haired man in his late twenties who knew what was expected of him. The ex-PDF corporal quickly recovered from his initial surprise at serving a captain who looked years his younger. He later learned it was due to the preventive juvenat treatments, among other things, the captain had enjoyed on Novter, a long-term career move.

'All hail.'

'The Saints of His Victory.'

'I'll wait until the others have arrived, so grab another cup while you can. This will be a _long_ day.' The captain's advice was followed by a semi-enthusiastic migration to the caffeine boiler.

Meanwhile Tjitse's calculating brown eyes gave the room a more thorough analysis. It hadn't been used for a long time, that much was clear. Dust and cobwebs in the corners, a fluorescent lighting near the entrance was flickering on and off in an annoying pattern. He hoped that the chart table's hololithic display would function. The briefing would be less effective without it. Naturally the Naval emblems in the room were spotless. The Naval-Guard vendetta was a waste in Tjitse's opinion. It led to bad prioritisation. But he couldn't blame it solely on malice. The menials had less than an hour to prep this dump for a company briefing. The normal facilities were all occupied. Some hangars were even used by Guard and Naval officers alike in a rapid scramble. Tjitse felt ambivalent towards the reason why.

It would certainly be easier this way. But if it would still be worth it was another matter. It depended on the situation on the ground. Unfortunately there was virtually nothing on that. Maybe he cou-

'…as arrived sir.'

Everyone in the room was focused upon Tjitse, waiting for him to speak. Lho-sticks were slowly extinguishing in ashtrays and cups of caffeine were placed on the desks. When the female voice registered Tjitse quickly regained himself. He didn't want to look taken off guard. Appearances mattered in the Guard's officer ranks and this morning held no excuses. His eyes shot around trying to identify the speaker as he couldn't immediately place the voice. The scarred form of Anke was raised half out of her chair and he gave her a short nod before saluting the room at large. They immediately returned the gesture.

'At ease.' Tjitse spoke as he grabbed the sides of the lectern.

The officers sat down and grabbed their cups and smokes again.

'Commissar Alex?' Tjitse spoke the words to no one in particular.

The jovial and obviously not fully awake lieutenant Pol Vee stood up clumsily. Tjitse cried out a warning but he was too late. The twenty year old lieutenant cursed loudly as the hot liquid scalded his skin. Uttering profanities he quickly backed off to get away from the hot liquid. Tjitse motioned at a Naval guard to clean it up. With noticeable chagrin the armsman obeyed. No doubt cursing inside about inept footsloggers.

'I should remember that trick next time I need to wake you up.'

Around the room there were some polite grins and a even few sincere chuckles at the inside joke. The dark haired Pol Vee was notoriously fond of sleeping. Some joked that the man could sleep through an artillery bombardment on his position. Few knew that he actually could after three glasses of good amasec.

'Off course you're going to miss the planetary invasion were going to launch in.' Tjitse theatrically looked at a chronometer on the wall.

'…Oh two hours against the planet the Departmento Munitorium has labelled, pending a hearing by the Administratum department on Planetary Acquisition with the Departmento Munitorum Field Acquisition(real estate) liaison in order to form a sub-committee that can appoint the relevant panel of jurists that can advice the committee on the Naming of Planetary Systems(acquisition), 'Under Debate'. Unfortunately it will mean that the men will have to go without your fine oratory skills informing them that they are a bunch of Throne damned bookworms who need to hurry the frak up or they will miss the ripping invasion.'

The room fell silent. Smiles evaporated from faces. Yawns stopped halfway and froze. Even Pol stopped midsentence in a particular colourful curse and looked at him incredulously. The captain wasn't particularly known for his humour's side. Tjitse couldn't help but grin at the entire sight. Suddenly the heavily tattooed sergeant Wil, no one dared to call him by his front name; Sinsi, barked out a harsh laugh across the room.

'Good one captain. You really got us with that one.'

General laughter followed. Many visible relaxing at the surprisingly good joke cracked.

'I'm happy you all find that amusing.' Tjitse's grin turned wolfish but didn't waver.

'The Dauntless class light cruiser _Ophelia Ranger_ was scouting wild space between the Bazin and Fa subsectors. Two days ago they stumbled upon an unknown habitable planet. Upon closer inspection it turned out to already be inhabited by a feudal society of heathens. Naturally they send out word of their discovery via Astropathic communiqué.'

Tjitse slowly managed to control his grin. An effort made more difficult as officers started to realise that he was serious. The armsman cleaning up Pol's caffeine mess hid his smirk. The notorious Naval scuttlebutt had informed the ship even before the message got down from the witchroost. Except the footsloggers off course.

'The communiqué was received by our esteemed Lord General Antsi. As our small

battle group would be moving past Under Debate's warp exit point on the way to the Fa subsector the esteemed Lord General thought it only appropriate a small amount of the Emperor's forces to take Under Debate for the salvation of its natives and the glory of the Emperor.'

And of his own no doubt. Without much difficulty the entire system could be added to his career record before the ponderous gears of the Administratum could mesh with the Departmento. That would almost certainly ensure someone else got to the honour. Antsi's many rivals would make sure of that. The man had to take this opportunity. And diverting a few regiments wouldn't be a miss. Even if it was keeping them away from a major multi front offensive in the Fa subsector against the various anti imperial elements there. Lord General-Militant Kee would be furious; he had a reputation for a temper. But should the tacticians be correct in their calculations then the detour should be over in a few days. Then they were back to the real war. Antsi would have no problem in soothing Kee. Tjitse would have done the same.

'May the Emperor protect.' Concluded Tjitse.

'May the Emperor protect.' Almost the entire room replied automagically as one. Some voices like that of father Piers and especially his disciple, Mar came with more passion than the rest.

'May the Omnissiah protect.' Transmitted the vox voice of the large, almost spidery Tech-Priest Leeg from behind Tjitse. His hooded rust red robes had holes in them for his many spidery mechandrites and main servo arm. A single large red orb glowed where the right eye of the Enginseer should be and a mass of smaller one's where his left should have been. The ashen face never drew breath. From the corner of his eye Tjitse could see Mar shooting Leeg a murderous look. It also looked like he was actually going to argue with the Mechanicus priest in the middle of the briefing. A subtle jab by father Piers' cut the disciple off. Tjitse knew that there was some friction between the Mechanicus and the Ministorum in the Imperium at large. It hardly ever became apparent on the surface. As far as most of the Imperial citizenry was concerned both institutions were two sides of the same coin. And on planets like Novter perhaps there was a truth to it. Tjitse focused, his internal chrono was ticking.

'Under Debate possesses some unusual characteristics. If you look at the chart table display…' Tjitse grabbed his cane and pointed it at the hololithic machine. The machine-spirit in the chart table slowly flickered into life. In green light it showed them a binary star system riddled with gas giants before zooming in on a small dot at the edge of the system. And then the machine-spirit refused to comply. Tjitse ordered it to work but to no avail, he internally sighed, there simple wasn't enough time for uncooperative machine-spirits to be disciplined.

'Enginseer Leeg, could you appease the machine spirit for us?'

'With the Omnissiah's will I will let this spirit comply with its duty before its fellow servants.' replied the Enginseer.

As Leeg commenced its work on the machine Mar looked contemptuously at the Martian priest's back.

'We will continue manually for the moment then.' Tjitse gestured at the sub-lieutenant to take position on the dais. Dame Wazer in her bright blue-white uniform briskly moved up from her spot on the side. She was a good looking woman of medium height with darkblond hair and hazel eyes starting to approach middle age.

'This is sub-lieutenant Wazer. She will dispense information on the planet until the machine spirit has been appeased by Leeg.' Tjitse nodded at Wazer, she could begin.

Tjitse didn't pay much attention to what she was saying. He and all the other company leaders from the Saints had just gotten a far more thorough briefing by the colonel. They simply didn't have the time to give the lower ranks the same amount of detail. Not that there was that much detail to begin with, or that it was really relevant for that matter. No his focus was upon the Tech-Priest working with the chart table's machine spirit. He had always been fascinated by the workings of the machine. One of the great disappointments in his life and career had been that no dedicated tank or artillery regiments were being raised at Novter during his final year at the Scholam Militant, and its aftermath.

Sub-lieutenant Wazer moved towards the dais in a hard straight line. Once she stood next to Tjitse upon the dais she made a sharp turn towards the assembled Guardsmen and gave an equally sharp salute. She cleared her throat for a moment. She hadn't expected the need to speak. It didn't help that the accent of these so called 'Saints' was guttural and rough. No surprise there; Ysleeth was a backwater sector in Tempestus. Not to mention that she hadn't heard more about this Novter other than that it existed. Still the crude tongue of these muddwellers was close enough to proper civilised low gothic to allow communication.

'Gentlemen of the Emperors most blessed Imperial Guard; the unusual amount of gas giants and the binary star hinders the opticon and auspex silos from peak performance. Nonetheless the few useful scans we made of this system tell us that the twelfth planet is habitable though it is surprisingly small. Its gravity of 0.989 stems from its unusually heavy core. This is likely tied to its heavy deposits of Francium and other rare metals. Likely that is tied to the magnetic fields plaguing us. The other reason for its unusual deposits are meteor strikes. Fresh impact scars, just a few years old, have been found on the island group in the south west of the northern continent. Though you do not have to be afraid for impacts during your mission. Our sensors have not been able to find any decent sized meteors or comets on collision course for the next 1688 years.'

Wazer consciously stressed the last words. The footslogging rabble often were irrationally afraid of anything space born and she wanted to sooth their worries. Even if they were muddwelling rabble, because that was her Emperor given duty now. Despite Wazer's soothing words Tjitse could hear lieutenant Freterik Gelder, the fierce, muttering something untoward.

'The potent magnetic fields generated by the core, gas giants and the two stars will give you some problems with communications and auspex performance on the surface. On the plus side the former will also protect us from the worst sun storms. It's a peculiar pair of suns. The type normally…'

Tjitse was focussed upon Leeg's work. The technosorceries of Mars had always captivated him. Far more than hearing of the peculiar way the two stars reciprocated with the gas giants for the second time. But from the tone of Wazer's voice Tjitse concluded that she found it truly fascinating. He knew that none of the Saints gave a petition, even those less hostile to the Navy, but they didn't have much choice but to hear it all.

From what Tjitse could tell with his limited insight Leeg was almost finished rebinding the machine spirit. The Enginseer respectfully sealed the inner workings of the chart table before raising his bulk up to his considerable height.

'The machine-spirit should be appeased now captain Velden. I suggest you try to command it again.'

Wazer stopped her lecture mid sentence when the priest spoke. A reflex triggered by Leeg's vox. To anyone who didn't spend enough time with the Mechanicus it was incredibly eerie to hear them speak like that. To the rest, it was a sound that carried authority. _Shut up and listen to me_ it said.

Tjitse motioned his cane again. He was not disappointed, as a rune flared into life and the entire hololithic display followed a heartbeat later. He used his cane to quickly scroll through the parts already discussed. A green light manifested itself from the chart table in the shape of a lazily spinning Under Debate. The planet was dominated by a single large continent in the northern hemisphere reaching into the polar region and a smaller one covering the southern pole. To the south west of the main continent lay a series of islands almost reaching the equator. It was possible to draw a rough line from the furthest island towards a largish peninsula in the south west of the continent. Possible tectonic activity Tjitse concluded.

He gave everyone a minute to look at the planet as a whole before moving on, zooming in upon the main continent. On closer inspection the continent looked friendly. Gentle plains, rolling hills, forests and rivers laid out in light. Only in the north was it inhospitable with a tundra caressing the north pole. The landmass was also rather flat. Only in the south-western peninsula region was there any real mountainous terrain. Most striking though was a single wide mountain erupting from the centre of the continent. Tjitse moved on.

'The _Ophelia Ranger_ has the best auspex in the flotilla but she can't give us much information. The main reason that she can do so at all is because she's been around more than the rest.' Freterik smiled at that. 'Even her sensors are having problems in this system, giving false reports.' Wazer cringed at the harsh, but true, accusation but recovered quickly. 'But mostly due to the technology on Under Debate, or rather the lack thereof.

He stressed that point with a gesture of the cane, in response symbols appeared on the main continent and Tjitse continued.

'The largest city, and likely centre of the most potent native civilisation, that has been detected on the planet. It is located upon the central mountain. Estimated population between fifty and a hundred thousand. We don't know anything about their political, economic, cultural, linguistic or religious forms. If it isn't feudal it's feral.' For all intents and purposes the Guard was going in blind. But despite that Under Debate promised to be an easy win. Swords, arrows and chainmail would be no match for even the most underequipped and green regiment.

His internal chrono told Tjitse to hurry up. He wanted to give his officers an hour to prepare for the coming execution. So he had less than half an hour left, time to skip some things. It was always possible to brief them further. Not that there was much to brief them about, still…

'The focus of this invasion will be the main city, henceforth called city #1. The moment we take their most populous city without breaking a sweat the remaining heathens should crap themselves. After that the Administratum can enforce the proper aquis in order to spread the Emperors light and…'

'Praised be to Him. For without His sacrifice, we would be but dust amongst the cold stars of

this galaxy.' The imposing musculature of disciple Mar cut through the briefing casting an evil glance at Leeg. Dozens of purity seals fluttered with the movement of his arms as he spoke, obscuring his black habit.

'The Emperor protects.' The room responded. Tjitse didn't like being interrupted by underlings. Especially not to hear the young disciple's overzealous ranting during the only briefing he could give his company.

'The Omnissiah protects.'

'Off course Enginseer.'

Tjitse ignored the look he was getting from Mar, he would have the upstart disciplined later. Though many in the Ministorum would vehemently disagree with him, he believed in zeal with moderation, this was just rude. Tjitse was going to make it clear to father Piers that Mar be properly restrained. He continued on unfazed.

'Several of our companies will be fanning out from the main battle zone, to cover ground and show the Aquila. Ours will be amongst them, the very first actually, seeing as the flotilla's orbit takes us over our drop site in the southwest. This world is already conquered; the problem lies in letting the natives know that. As such I want to cover as much ground as possible. Glory will never be so easy and I will not waste any moment. Is that understood?' Tjitse grimaced at the half-hearted sound coming from the room. 'I _said _is that understood soldiers?' He gave a satisfied nod at the outburst from the room. Situations like this were taught at the Scholam Militant, they had trained Tjitse well, all things considered.

Tjitse twiddled with his cane. The chart table's focus changed from the main city to the south-western peninsula.

'That will be our area of execution. Won't be the easiest terrain to outrace the others, but nothing we can't handle. We'll advance from here to here-two dots appeared on the map-and bring the entire region into the fold of the Emperor. Before city #1 is properly secured we'll have reached the ocean. So the fifth company will have to move fast to take our target area and snatch the cup from captain Veer. Now the entire execution is expected to be accomplished in a week, at the most. Once were done here we'll be picked up by the Navy. From there on it goes as planned. Be deployed as part of Battlefleet Ysleeth into Fa and gloriously crush the enemies of the Emperor and become real saints.' Tjitse purposefully used the regiments euphemism for dying.

'I know you think this is going to be easy. Throne, I do. Showing the Aquila, no need to rip it, guaranteed spot in the archives, almost a vacation. Almost. I won't deny the men their fun but no slacking. Fa awaits after this slice of glory. And we all know that won't be so easy. So I want as much training in the men before we get there. The motley assortment of rat brained bandits, doped up gangers, petitioning secessionists and inbred Heretics on Sherxis was barely enough to end our internship. We're not going to waste this small opportunity.' Sounds of assent came from the now fully awake officers. 'We only have a few minutes left. A more comprehensive account should be delivered at your quarters by now. There won't be much time to review it before the drop so I'm making an administrative decision, take them with you down to the surface. And off course afterwards delete them.' There was a murmur among the officers that quickly died down.

Tjitse wanted his officers to learn about their targets, he would grill them later to see how much they knew. In his mind this really was a combination of glory, study, training, and a small vacation all wrapped into one. A real commissar would not have allowed anyone but the captain to take a highly encrypted version with him. Feudal or not. But Alex was hardly in a position to stop them, then again, knowing him he wouldn't have objected, no loss to the commissariat there.

'If there is anything specific, now is the time.'

The dashing Lieutenant Tjeerd Hertgen stood up, stiffening a yawn behind his gloved fist.

'Is it wrong to assume that the total force for this execution is larger than us Saints captain?'

'No you're not.' Tjitse mentally kicked himself. 'The 1st Sherxis tank regiment, the 28th Bish light infantry and a bunch of regimental remnants from Athonos, Bazin, Oelan No, Makov and Putek will be deployed together with the 13th Novter. The 1st Sherxis and 28th Bish will be deployed against city #1. Most of the Saints will be deployed to secure the surrounding nations. Only two companies will be joining the 'siege'. The remnants will be deployed half and half."

It was overkill those two companies alone were a formidable force. All Novter formations tended to have some more meat on them than their counterparts from the rest of the sub-sector. The regiment was more akin to a small division than a 'standard' regiment. And a company like the 5th could go toe to toe with a battalion. Even so the Saints wouldn't be deploying in bulk at the primary target. Tjitse was sure several fellow captains were mourning about the missing chapter dedicated to them in Under Debate's future archive.

'They're all coming from the Sherxis Pacification like us. They were deployed at Wuland though, so you can all safely say you don't recognize any of them. Their stationed on the troopship _Ship o' plenty_. The _o'plenty_ and the frigate _Blazing Light_ have exited warp with our own _Steadfast_.'

Wazer frowned almost imperceptibly. The _Ship o' plenty_ was a converted freighter. Hardly worth the moniker of troopship. And the privilege to shorten a ships name was only slowly won. But present company wouldn't know or care about that.

Lieutenant Freterik stood up this time, as a rule the man did not like the Navy. A sour look on his face.

'Is the Navy capable of supporting us _this _time around captain?' Tjitse wanted to sigh but controlled himself. Before he could reply Wazer answered.

'The _Steadfast_ is a Defiant class ship sir.' Almost as if she was explaining 1+1 to a child.

The lieutenant, Wazer thought that was his rank, clearly didn't understand that. She swallowed the first words that welled up in her proud Naval soul.

'Most of the craft we carry are Marauders sir.' She tried to control her tone. Yes the answer is two; muddweller.

Freterik clearly still didn't understood her or else choose to pretend he didn't.

'They are bombers lieutenant.' Tjitse added, his intent clear to Freterik.

'Yes sir. I understand.'

Vee stood up for a question. Deftly making sure he didn't get close to a cup of caffeine this time.

'Who is that captain?' He pointed at the hunched grey-blue robed figure that hadn't spoken or moved. Before Tjitse could react the Astropath appeared as if it wanted to answer. With its lips and eye sockets sewn shut with brass wire all that came out was saliva and a bubbling noise. What surprised Tjitse was that it had attempted to do so at all. According to Astropathicus the things mind had been slowly burned away years ago.

'Serfin is its name. The company's new Astropath, assigned to us to ease our communication difficulties on the ground. Time for the execution is near, so any last questions?'

People were already standing up and preparing to leave when the grey haired and non-Novterian sergeant Haak spoke up.

'When will a new commissar enforce our company?'

His voice carried that perpetually refined but sad air that also showed in his general demeanour. Combined with the fact that he otherwise epitomises the hard assed sergeant, the man was the target of many barrack jokes. Especially by the unfortunate bastards who served in his platoon.

'Alex isn't gone.' Yet, Tjitse's entertained the notion with relish. 'But I'm sure we will manage without the commissariat for a few days. On a final note the blessed Ministorum has decided to change their thought of the day due to the Emperor's favour.'

Tjitse made a short, courteous bow to father Piers as he spoke. 'It now reads "Think not that you came to send peace, for you came not to send peace, but boot and bayonet." Now if anyone needs me I will be checking up on the commissar for changes in his status. Company, dismissed.'


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

"_Think not that you came to send peace, for you came not to send peace, but boot and bayonet."_

Thought of the day.

Sergeant Wil pretended to drink the last of his caffeine and study the hololithic display while the room quickly emptied. The Saints rushed off for their final preparations in the ad hoc invasion. The Ministorum priests went to the ships chapel. The Mechanicus priest went to to the garage. The officers went off to inspect their troops. Wazer went to do whatever a Naval sub-lieutenant does. Only lieutenant Neeltje stayed for some last words with the captain though they were quickly finished. The blonde lieutenant saluted and walked away. The captain casually grabbed his data slates and cane whilst ordering Pyt to pack some personal affects. The adjutant knew off course. While Pyt walked off Tjitse grabbed a fresh cup. Wil was about to approach Tjitse until he noticed the Astropath standing in a corner. Just standing, and perhaps drooling, but doing nothing else. Wil was unsure how to proceed. He wanted to talk to the captain alone, but psykers scared the shit out of him, except he couldn't really afford to wait here, stuff needed doing. Fortunately Tjitse noticed the Astropath's continued drooling. He considered servitor type Astropaths to be more… reliable was the closest word he could come up with. Their discretion was assured. But on the other flip side they were well…servitors.

'Armsman.'

One of the Naval armsmen guarding the door snapped to attention.

'Escort Astropath Serfin to transport S1/A1/1'

The armsman saluted but looked unsure at the Astropath.

'Just grab it by the robes.' The armsman hesitantly led the Astropath away by its robes. Wil was about to talk when Tjitse cut him off and spoke first.

'Sergeant, walk with me to the commissar's current quarters.' Wil nodded. 'Yes sir.'

Silently both of them walked towards the medical deck. Wil wanted to talk but Tjitse signalled him to keep quiet until they were out of earshot. Once they were alone in the dark bowels of the ship Tjitse motioned to Wil, he could begin.

'I'm not sure how to file this captain. We had a setup, a frakking plan and now this? Our…usual contacts can't help us out now.'

'I understand Wil. But at its core the business itself won't change. The surrounding groundwork is still useful. We'll just have to improvise.'

'No problem sir. Its just unexpected and there are definitely some perks to this deployment. If you know what I mean'

'I do. Keep in mind that the upside is also the down side.'

'Uhm...' Wil answered slightly confused.

Tjitse stopped and looked into the eyes of his partner-in-crime.

'Only us and some natives down there sergeant. Only us and them.'

Wil frowned for a second, then understanding dawned.

'Yes sir. I think I understand.'

'Good. Now go to your platoon Wil, Julia might need your gentle hand. Oh and tell them that Alex would surely have wished you all good luck and the Emperors grace in your righteous endeavour.'

Wil chuckled, appreciating Tjitse's humour, as he saluted and took his leave. After a few paces Wil realised that he still had to do his kit, inspect those of his Saints. Frak, where were they assembling anyway? Throne, he didn't even know where his transport was! Wil started to run in the general direction of his regiment's billets.

It took Wil longer then he had expected; he got lost. But after stumbling upon eleventh company's chem-stills he found his way back. With half an hour to spare he reached his platoon. Throne! He didn't have his own kit in order. Then a cold voice called from behind.

'What took you so long sergeant? Got lost?'

'Yes lieutenant Karuzand.' Wil winced inside at his own answer as he saluted her. Karuzand; Wil used her last name. She raised an eyebrow but didn't pursue it. 'I went with the captain to see the commissar. Tjitse said the commissar wishes us all good luck and the Emperors grace in our noble endeavour.'

10th platoon grinned at each other at the inside joke behind the lieutenants back. Yeah, and they would all retire as justly hailed heroes to an Ecclesiarchy mansion on Veen with a dozen hot sororitas tomorrow morning! The green lieutenant meanwhile didn't, couldn't, get it and they were glad for it. She did however knew the commissar's condition, regrettable as she found it, but more importantly also that of her own platoon.

'Commendable sergeant. However the commissar isn't going anywhere anytime soon. The platoon however is. Next time you better have your priorities straight, understood?'

'Yes lieutenant.' Wil gave a sharp salute and then hesitated for a second, almost too ashamed. 'Permission to pack my kit lieu-'

'Trooper Ansus already got your kit for you. And I already inspected the platoon.' Julia said coldly. 'So if you're able get the platoon to drop ship S1/T1/4 sergeant.' She stressed the last word with a particularly icy tone. Wil swallowed, that had been unpleasant, not as unpleasant as it could have been, that would have involved whips.

'Yes lieutenant.' Wil saluted before barking his orders at the men. Quickly enough the platoon marched in tight formation to their transport across one of the ships great arterial hallways, the platoon banner carried proudly upfront.

Lieutenant Julia Karuzand followed them closely. Keeping one eye on her platoon and another on her dataslate. At first she didn't notice the joyous singing coming from the the surrounding Saints. But when she did a wide smile broke upon her beautiful face and she sang along. _Mariken's March_. Yes this was as it should be.

They passed several other companies along the way. And they all started to sing passionately as the 5th marched by. The lucky bastards would be the first to make planetfall. Unknown priests of the Ministorum and the Mechanicum murmured prayers. Many soldiers followed their lead but many others offered a honorary smokes, drinks, small containers or more personal goodbyes.

Julia was only a lieutenant for a few weeks now, having arrived during the closing stages of the Sherxis campaign, but she suspected the other officers were secretly as excited as she was. The previous lieutenant had suffered an unfortunate fall and broke his neck, so there she was, officer with the famous Saints. Green as grass. The youngest officer in the entire regiment with nineteen. Rumour amongst the men had it that her family's connections had gotten her the position. Petition! Yes, they had made sure she got into the Scholam Militant, yes they made sure she didn't end up on garrison duty, but that's it. She had specifically forbidden her parents and brothers interfering any further. She got assigned to a renowned regiment like the 13th because she was good, no other reason. That firm belief didn't stop her from being slightly self conscious. It didn't help that almost every man in her platoon 'thought about her' at night, not unexpected though. She looked like any proud noblewoman of good stock was supposed to look in Cadia pattern flak armour.

Julia pushed her selfish thoughts aside with a frown and focused her thoughts where they belonged, singing about Terra's living glory. After the song had finished she didn't join in with the next. Instead she looked upon her dataslate. Back at Novter she was taught that going in blind was a recipe for disaster and it made sense to her. As such she had meticulously studied all the info she could gather about the coming campaign in the Fa subsector, its demographics, culture, economy, planets, aristocracy etc. etc.

All of their, more importantly, her, preparations went flying out of the window overnight because everything had changed, the target, the objective, the enemy, the terrain, everything. Her, and everyone else's, conciliation in the room had been that they were going to "conquer" a feudal world. And after they were done it would be back to where they left off. Julia smiled. Things could be a lot worse for an ad hoc invasion.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

An ambitious, slightly educated commoner that was sergeant Velum Haak's opinion of 'captain' Tjitse Velden. There were enough corrupt, ambitious wannabe aristocrats in the Imperium without him. Selfish with no concern for the Imperium; at best the 'noble' Velden family might be up to its duties on Novter. Though the memory could be painfully distant Haak had seen real officers back in the day and Tjitse wasn't eve…

Sighing internally Haak stamped his own chain of thought into the unworthy ground. The Emperor had decreed that Tjitse be his superior officer in the divine chain of command. In the Guard the chain of command is clear, absolute and divine. Tjitse was his commanding officer, and that was it. For all he kne…Haak mentally kicked himself again before giving a short but heartfelt prayer for himself and the captain.

Originally he thought that if he could gather enough hard evidence on whatever Tjitse was doing he could have gone to commissar Alex. Haak sighed bitterly. For a moment he entertained the notion to promotion to lieutenant. The thought was unworthy of him, if he was found worthy he would be found worthy, and that was it. But if the whispered rumors that were starting to filter through to him about the commissar were true that wouldn't have helped him, except in an early grave. Haak had been shocked and unbelieving at first, but with time had found it less hard to believe.

The Emperor works in mysterious ways. In his more proud moments Haak believed he was beginning to comprehend the Emperor's plan for him, this was not such a moment. It didn't really matter he concluded, all that he could, was all that he would do to serve his Emperor.

Haak ceased his reverie; there was work to do.

'Maggots! Form up!' Haak's refined voice boomed.

They hurried even faster then normal; no doubt word of the Emperor's work had spread, they were eager he realized with relish.

'Heathens are faster. Take the kit from the trooper next to you. You have thirty seconds to make sure it's in order. Otherwise the both of you will have disciplinary duty for the rest of the execution to look forward to.'

He looked at the rigid formation of the assembled platoon for a second or two. It was beginning to approach passable.

'Well what are you waiting for!? A written invitation from the Lord General-Militant!?

A frantic flurry of activity took place as troopers exchanged kits and checked them. Most were confident enough to keep it as it was. Others weren't so certain and tried to make it presentable enough for their brasshole sergeant.

Haak counted to twenty-one and started his inspection. He brutally chastised those who had failed to meet his high standards. But he made sure to acknowledge those few who passed.

They were making improvements he secretly thought. They were more disciplined and obeisant than the other platoons in the fifth. But it would take an Inquisitorial order to make him say it out loud. Having completed the inspection he walked towards the lieutenant's office. He politely knocked on the door of the small office.

'Enter.'

Haak entered and gave a spotless salute to lieutenant Jan De Xanten. The officer sat behind his carved Moeranisch ironwood desk reading through the mission's dataslate by the flickering light of a baroque brass oil lamp. He was a muscular man in his mid fifties with a regal face. Though he looked as if he was in his late thirties thanks to the art of Imperial juvenat treatments. Jan was one of the few officers in the entire regiment Haak simply respected. A man from a wealthy but politically insignificant merchant family his career options were limited. So when he had testified in a court martial proceeding against a well connected major his career had halted. He took it well though, Haak concluded. Haak felt angry about the injustice but then again he felt angry about a lot of injustices. Rumor had it Jan had been on the shortlist for company captain before Tjitse did the right thing. The lieutenant looked up from his dataslate and smiled at his sergeant.

'Let me guess. Trooper Meeskers had far too much personal belongings with him?'

'Yes sir.'

'You have a poetic sense of justice sergeant Haak'

Jan couldn't help but grin. Meeskers had taken too much personal items, most of them additives from the chem-stills. Haak had then told the trooper that if he liked hauling too much kit around he'd have just the job in mind.

'Thank you sir.'

'When you used him as your steed for the rest of the inspection I thought I was going to get a heart attack from keeping my laughter in. It must have been hard on the rank and file as well.' Jan chuckled.

'They managed sir.

'Off course, they're terrified of you. But overall I have to say that those boys are doing well.'

'Yes sir.' Haak hesitated for a second. 'Overall they are somewhat acceptable Guardsmen of the God-Emperor's Imperial Guard.'

'Coming from a hardass like you that means a lot. But you shouldn't count yourself out Haak. You dragged them where they are now.'

'Thank you sir.'

Jan shoved his dataslate across the desk towards Haak, put on his cap and stood up.

'I'm going to give the men a little speech and then march them to the transports. You read up. Tjitse didn't cover everything, especially the minutiae. Exact embarkation points of the platoons, deployment on the ground etc. He got the important parts though.'

'Yes sir.'

Jan left the office. Haak took the dataslate and anxiously started reading. It had been approved by a superior officer but Haak was sure that if a proper commissar had been around...

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

"'…honourable as thou, as blessed as thou. For how can you not be blessed when performing this_Peregrinatio_ Militas in His name? How can one not be moved by performing Duty to their Lord and Master. So that this insignificant ball of rock will be become part of the most just and moral State of Humanity. The faithful have but to remember the holy Aquila to recognize the manifest destiny of Man and the horror of its enemies. Ignorant as thou art thou is only aware of Faithful Hate against the forms of the Enemy. Alien Xeno, Treacherous Heretic and Unclean Otherness. But here, as everywhere, thou will triumph over the sweetest of enemies. The Heathen. Rip them from the Darkness that they know and bring them into Light and ignorance of all else. Thus they too can hallow the Emperor and His sacrifice for humanity. Thus they too can be called brother and sister, servant of Terra. Thus too can they take up righteous weapons as honourable warriors. Thus too can they be judged before the Golden Throne beyond the Eternity Gate on Holy Terra." Saint Uriah Jacobus_ Spreading the Light_ chapter IV'

The fat Pontifex Astra Benevaux was an impressive figure preaching in full regalia. Blood red Oelan No silk robe with intricate gold broidery and ice leopard fur trimming. An ornate two meter tall mitre on his bald head, bejewelled lappets dragging across the floor. A silver crosier with the crook enveloping a golden Emperor shepherding the Astronomicon.

Benevaux's booming voice filled every acoustically designed corner of the overflowing sanctum. His fervour and faith were evident in response to his Emperor's task. He mentally struggled to keep himself measured.

Blank eyed Cherubs sang hymns of conversion while fluttering around Benevaux with incense bearers. They were refined enough to change their volume, pitch and timbre perfectly to stay in tandem with the Pontifex. Pict and vox servo-skulls floated further out for the dual purpose of recording propaganda and new historical material, and those lacking in zeal. A carefully selected mix of fragrances and incenses filled the air. Rare Morianirre, triumphantly sweet Imperincense and the thrice blessed Faith Vapour gave the soft golden light coming through the stained glass windows a hazy quality.

As soon as the Most Radiant Pontifex Astra Benevaux had received the joyous news that his flock had been granted the blessed task of spreading the Emperors light to this unlit corner of the galaxy inspiration had filled him. Or more succinctly put the Emperor's whispers.

'Blessed be you, for your faith will be like a fast flowing river of light. And your faith will wash away the ignorant darkness festering on Under Debate.'

The choir singing at the side and slightly behind Pontifex Benevaux was carefully following a precise pattern of Psalms so as to supplement the sermon. Pour their soul into every word. Ministorum doctrine decreed that the most powerful sit closer to divinity, a model of the Imperial hierarchy. Freshly bathed, and occasionally perfumed, bionics neatly polished, wearing their finest clothing, jewellery and badges of office the faithful looked as if it was the Feast of the Emperors Ascension already.

Except for father Piers and disciple Mar who wore field habits. The fifth company was about to deploy in about twenty nine minutes. Despite their distinction it was hard to make the pair out in the crammed sanctum. The ship wide vox system providing for those unfortunates who couldn't be present in flesh. In a rare act of accommodation Benevaux limited the amount of High Gothic.

Mar was entranced and hung on Benevaux's lips. The Pontifex stoked the disciple's inner fire high. Piers, though a patient man by nature, found himself getting annoyed by his latest disciple's overzealousness. Piers was of the opinion that he could smoothen Mar's rough edges in a year or so, teach the virtue of patience. Further service with the Guard would galvanise Mar or lead to his martyrdom. Amidst jubilation Piers closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as the music and the sermon filled his ears, incense filled his nostrils and he focused his mind in calm prayer to his Lord and Master. Opening his eyes he felt a faint smile creep upon his face. He, a veteran priest jaded through the decades, was starting to feel the old fire burn brighter as Benevaux's words echoed in his ears.

'Coming from the sky our radiant souls will be the first rays of light in a holy dawn upon this forgotten planet of Man. Faith in the Emperor will be ignited within every man and every woman and every child down on Under Debate. A faith that will save and empower them. From the Golden Throne, the brilliant Ray of Hope will now shine for them as well. The Emperor will Illuminate their path and will warm every core with His fire, fill every mind with His will, illuminate every soul with His brilliance. Hate and Intolerance the Heathens will learn, learn to cherish it and nurture it so that it may grow fruit. And it shall nourish them in their Duty against the Alien, the Heretic and the Unclean. Blessed with Ignorance they shall be. Their minds knowing only of the Emperors Will. And therefore I say; thrice blessed are you! For you already posses Faith, Hate, Duty and Ignorance, for you propagate those virtues to the unilluminated, for I now bless you.'

Benevaux made the sign of the Aquila at the enraptured congregation, prayed and pompously sprinkled the dignitaries with blessed promethium, a custom taken over from the Saints, appropriate given the circumstances. Meanwhile monks solemnly waved incense burners around, chanting hymns in tandem with the choir.

Piers thought that would be the end of it, or else it was a good opportunity to leave without making a huge gaffe. Their deployment was coming up. Surely the Pontifex would know and understand.

Benevaux did know, but he wasn't done yet. A deacon carrying a gold and diamond reliquary stepped forth from behind a row of sorroritas. The entire chapel suddenly fell quiet. There were enough hair and skin flakes of the Emperor to choke the Eye of Terror. All the bones of Saint Ilia would collapse into a planet. There were enough drops of blood of Saint Skey to flood Tallarn. But genuine relics were rare and holy, and thus potent, items.

'Captain Osissis, general Antsi, colonel Nuyen, father Piers, captain Tjitse, disciple Mar. Adepta of the Emperor, come before me.'

Piers and Mar looked at each other in surprise. As Piers saw Tjitse and Nuygen amongst those approaching the Pontifex he knew that it wasn't his imagination. Grabbing the stunned Mar by the arm Piers made his through the deferential crowd. Every eye and ocular bionic in the sanctum was following those called forth.

They knelt before Benevaux with as much decorum as the duo could manage. Next to them were the others. Piers managed to sneak a good look upon the general, recognizing the man, or at least the bloodline. He didn't have the grey hair or the hawkish overtones his century old uncle, the Lord General, possessed but otherwise the resemblance was uncanny. And green as grass, coming straight from the prestigious His Holy Cleansing academy on Bazin Prime. It might have been the Lord General's decision to take this planet, but it was his cousin's, likely first, responsibility to actually do it.

Solemnly Benevaux opened the reliquary, ordering the machine-spirit to release its stasis field. Upon a gold braided satin black silk pillow lay a single small yellow-white object. With great reverence the Pontifex Astra removed the pillow and held it up high.

'This is a bone from Saint Mariken.'

Piers and Mar recognized the name, though the religiously uneducated probably wouldn't. It was a minor saint from M34. He was overshadowed by more popular Saints from the same period, Saint Sabbat most prominently. But a real Saint, and a real relic none the less.

'Industrious like a spiritual ant he was, unwavering in his faith. True to the Emperor was he. Worlds he liberated, billions he inspired, light he brought, daemons he vanquished, Faith, Hate, Duty and Ignorance he spread. More and more found their place in the moral order of the Imperium.'

Benevaux made a sign in the air with the pillow before holding it in front of Osissis. A solemn looking man of indeterminate age in a blue and white Naval uniform with a multitude of cords, wires and tubes jutting out of his skull and spine. They were the artificial nerves that connected him with the _Steadfast._

'Blessed be you captain. Do you take up this holy overwatch?'

'I do your Excellency.'

The cool and regal Osissis made the sign of the Aquila, bowed forward to gently kiss the holy relic. There was a collective gasp from the masses. To see a genuine relic was rare enough. But to be allowed to actually touch one!? That was almost unheard of. The Pontifex stepped aside to the general. Benevaux made the same sign again before repeating his question.

'Blessed be you general. Do you take up this holy expedition?'

'I do your Excellency.'

Antsi made the sign of the Aquila. A haughty man with a sharp face. He seemed to tremble for a second and then bowed down and kissed the relic. After a moment the Pontifex stepped sideways again where he repeated himself.

The aging, wrinkled but still strong form of the colonel seemed to glow as Benevaux held the relic in front of his face, eyes starting to water . He had seen much in the line of Duty and was he was growing old. To be able to see this let alone be a part off it would be the crowning achievement of a long career that had started with another 13th 'Saints' regiment before its long grind and refounding. He calmly kissed the relic. Benevaux moved away from the colonel and now Piers could really see the relic. Objectively speaking it didn't look like much but that hardly mattered.

'Blessed be you priest. Do you take up this holy mission?'

'I do your Excellency.'

Piers made the sign of the Aquila and gently bowed forward to kiss the relic. Benevaux stepped aside to Tjitse.

'Blessed be you officer. Do you take up this holy advance?'

'I do your Excellency.'

Tjitse had a solemn look on his face as he made the sign of Aquila and bowed forward to kiss the holy relic. The kiss appeared rather mundane though he faintly smiled afterwards.

'Blessed be you disciple. Do you take up this holy mission?'

'I do your Excellency.'

Mar looked at the small bone as if he was reunited with his love. He made the sign of the Aquila. Then he bowed forward to give the bone a short but passionate kiss. When he pulled his head back his were tearing again.

Benevaux gently placed the pillow with the relic back into the reliquary, summoning its machine-spirit forth to safe keep it. He placed his hands at the top Piers' and Mar's heads softly murmering a blessing in High Gothic. He then turned to Tjitse and out of nowhere a rust robed tech-priest with a triangle of green glowing eye's at throat level appeared by Benevaux's side carrying some of Tjitse's kit on an engraved silver platter.

'Warrior of the Emperor, kill in Faith, kill in Duty, kill in Hate and know that whatever may come, the Emperor protects the faithful. And for those that die in the Emperor's name there is a special place beyond the Eternity Gate.' The Pontifex blessed Tjitse in High Gothic while the Magos in turn blessed the machine-sprits of Tjitse's equipment in binary and by placing his many brass mechandrites upon them for 0.01 seconds, honoring the spirits by fusing 00110010 molecules from hallowed Mars to each piece. Benevaux raised his hands high and turned to Tjitse, Mar and Piers. 'Go forth servants of the Emperor and execute His Will. Blood for the Emperor, Souls for His Throne!' The _Litany of Hate_ was taken up by the enraptured masses.

Tjitse got up first, followed by Piers and Mar and made a bow to the Pontifex and Magos, even Mar, before leaving. On their way out some amongst the congregation reached out to touch them.

They trio walked silently through the corridors, each lost in their own thoughts. A real relic of Saint Mariken. It still dazzled Piers' brain what just happened but was snapped out of his reverie when Tjitse was bidding them goodbye.

'How was the commissar?' Piers asked as an afterthought.

'No real change father.' Tjitse shrugged offering little emotion that Piers could make out. Mar offered his prayers but by then Tjitse had left.

The two clergy walked towards the main hangar through deserted halls. Piers still had matters to discuss with his charge and now as the time. It pained him somewhat that he would pull Mar out of his blissful state and back on deck. Piers needed clarity that was a bit more material.

'Have you ever experienced something so spiritual disciple?'

'I haven't father. I'm so happy and grateful to the Emperor that he has bestowed this gift upon me.' Piers could tell the disciple was earnest.

'As am I, as am I.' Piers was quiet for a moment. 'The Pontifex impressed me, choirs in perfect tune, the cherubs fluttering in an Aquila pattern, did you notice that by the way?'

'No I did not father. I am glad you made me aware.' And he meant it.

'Can you identify the used blend of incense?'

'Imperincense dominated with its sternness but I also smelled a whiff of Morianirre along its edges.'

'You are correct though you missed the Faith Vapour hiding behind them both. Do not be ashamed. Faith Vapour it is rare and subtle. It is created on only a handful of Forge Worlds by venerable Magos' Alchemys of the Emperor Omnissiah. It is produced not for the nose but for the soul.' The young man was impressed, only slightly put off by the Mechanicus connection. Piers was relieved that the suspicion didn't run very deep and he said as such. Mar was speechless so Piers shifted the conversation to keep him off balance.

'I was pleased to see two of our regimental officers being blessed.'

'Truly the Emperor watches over us because our captain Tjitse was one of them.'

It pleased Piers to hear Mar say 'our'. He had joined the Saints less then two months ago, relative, in the aftermath of the Sherxis Pacification. Piers had served in his Lord and Master's armies for years and so served with many officers. Sherxis had been the 13th regiment's first execution since their refounding and Piers's first time with them. It was the first time the captain had a real command, it had showed but Tjitse had risen to the challenge with ruthless audacity. The highlight being at Weatherhill, destroying a province's worth of insurgents in one two day battle. When the Pacification had been completed five months later and amidst the victory hymns Piers concluded that the Saints performed better than anticipated. They weren't 'interns' anymore, but neither were they veterans.

'Speaking of the captain.' Piers stressed the rank. 'He did not appreciate your earnest interruption during the briefing. The successful execution of his orders are at stake. We are here to assist, not hinder.' Though Piers put no malice in his words Mar cringed. The thought of failing his beloved Emperor truly hurt him. 'The captain hasn't come to me about it yet but I suspect that he will soon. Fortunately no real harm was done, but had the situation been different…'

'Should it be my place to say such thoughts than I'm ambiguous about the captain, father.' Mar hesitated for a moment before the Faith Vapour pushed him onward. 'He is below average mass attendance.' Mar looked uncomfortable criticizing his superior like that.

'He would never have missed this.' If only because of political reasons, was what Piers very much didn't say. It was still too soon for the harsh reality of the officer corps. 'Again Piers changed topic.

'Did you know that most of our troops like to play music or sing before an execution? A custom among many Novter regiments. Though it is a pre battle ritual shared with many amongst the vast and varied Guard. It tends to get the blood flowing but it's not overtly pious music. It would be better if they listened to more spiritual music instead.' Piers smiled at the again off footed Mar.

'I do father, perhaps we coul tal-'

'Take this disciple.'

Piers produced a small data carrier and gave it to his disciple.

'What is it father?'

'It is a techno-arcane piece containing something more appropriate for the Saints. An adaptation of some of Saint Mariken's psalms. It is not explicitly endorsed by the Ministorum but neither is it banned, as such I have authority to allow it.' Piers smiled at the wide eyed Mar. 'I didn't know about the relic beforehand, so I'm taking it as a sign.' Mar's eyes grew even wider as he carefully took the data carrier.

They rounded a corner and entered the crowded hangar holding the S_teadfast's_ regular troop transport craft and auxiliary Arvus Lighter cargo transports. There was a shortage of inter-atmospheric transport capacity so even those small cargo haulers would be used. Further along the hangar, shielded from the rest with cloth and flakboard were the sleek Lightning Interceptors. Navy officers ran around, shouting, confirming checklists, performing last minute rites of maintenance and generally cursing at anyone of lower rank. Mar frowned disapproving at the almost sacrilegious words. Guard troops were embarking their transports. Tech priests gave final blessings to the machine-spirits. Lieutenants Neeltje, Pol and Tjeerd were talking in a huddle, adjutants close by, a small stable island among scuttling ants masses. Mar couldn't help but smile. He had never experienced such activity before, everyone seemed like an ant to him. Something great was happening here, something divine. Under Debate would ascend into the Emperor's domain.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Wazer felt strangely relaxed issuing orders, checking flight plans, checklists, promethium supply, solving problems and generally bringing a semblance of order to the crawling anarchy of the Emperor's ants. After she had been forced to quit piloting years ago it had been her role. It felt natural now, and that worried her more than she dared to admit.

The only thing different was the time table and that this wasn't her wing. She normally took care of S2/F1 not S1/A1, the transport craft used for the 5th company. Normally Focer would be in charge but he and several others had contracted a new strain of the Chill virus. It was less virulent but more dangerous than the normal strain. Naturally that was officer only information for obvious reasons. And now an invasion had to be launched, its accompanying tight flight schedule called for the best and that meant her. So maybe, just maybe the Emperor had provided a personal blessing Wazer mused; this could get her flight status returned.

Wazer turned to the small group of pilots approaching her. Dhon wanted to know his new total load after some last minute changes. He was surprised to learn it had decreased until he learned the new big package contained toilet paper instead of power cells. Dheremie, Dhon's twin brother, nervously asked about the level of resistance they could be expecting. She managed to keep the grin from her face when she explained. The embarassed pilot gave his chuckling brother a dirty look. Dakovic just wanted to double check, her, and their flight schedule seeing as he would be piloting them and what an honor it was to fly her. Wazer kept her eyes from rolling while telling him to get back to his transport. She worked her dataslate for a moment.

'Sub-lieutenant, how is it the situation?

Wazer recognized the voice and so had her salute ready as she turned. Lieutenant-commander Stefanie, old friend and previous subordinate stood before her. Sharp, fair features, much like the Lightning she piloted.

'I am currently checking progress reports dame. All machine-spirits will be fully roused by the deadline.' By a narrow margin, is what she didn't say to Stef, she knew.

'So your new assignment is to your liking then sub-lieutenant?' Stef's face was half pity half amusement.

Wazer smiled a bit sorely. She really didn't have time for this.

'I rejoice in my Duty to the Emperor dame, you know that.'

The lieutenant-commander chuckled.

'I do.' She meant it. 'Now your real thoughts or do I have to order you around.' Wazer smiled back at her superior.

'This-she gestured around her- I can do all day. It's the part where I babysit some muddwellers on the dirtball that I don't look forward to.' Wazer scowled. 'Even though this might not be very pleasant it could well get the XO to let it all go. But at the end of the cycle it doesn't matter anyway. Duty, that matters.'

'Good, and now answer my question.'

Wazer knew why Stef was here. Things had been easy, relaxed almost, during transit but now things were franticly busy for something she had never expected. Almost automagically she went to her friend and sister in arms.

'The _Ophelia Ranger's_ message was unexpected. I had no idea it was even around. I'm grateful for this privilege granted by the Emperor. Though I would just as gladly have served with the rest of battlefleet Ysleeth. From a worldly point of view the _Steadfast _would have been chosen because of her youth, only a few centuries, barely fuelled...' If an outsider said that she could count on a beating. If only because it was technically true. One of the first Dauntless carriers produced at the massive shipyards at Voss, she was still young for a warship from the Imperium. And worse the novelty of the Defiant class in this part of Segmentum Tempestus had hampered maintenance rites at Arbet. Didn't matter though, the _Steadfast_ was, is and forever will be the best ship in all of battlefleet Ysleeth.

'And because she, through the Emperor's will, is carrying a regiment of muddwellers along, making her the perfect choice, ground and aeronautical in one ship.' Wazer said almost resentful. Stef nodded her head in consent and Wazer continued.

'The _Ship o' plenty _is a piece of junk. The admiral is probably afraid it couldn't go any further. Not to mention that the _Blazing Light_ was diverted from its shake-down run. They probably detected some faults and thought that this was as good an opportunity as any to get it fixed before Fa. On a side note, the Munitorum betters itself yet again; Under Debate is the most moronic planetary name yet.' Stef smiled sarcastically as she replied.

'Look at it this way, at least it's a change of pace from the constant glorious victories against overwhelming odds.'

'Very funny. By the way thanks for landing me this job, getting the ball rolling again.'

'Frak, how did you find out.'

'You just told me.'

'Throne damn you woman.'

They both laughed.

'Whilst I'm here anything that I can do to help.'

'Yes, you could help me find shift three. They were supposed to arrive ten minutes ago.' Stef raised her eyebrows in surprise.

'Oh, so you don't know?'

'Don't tell me…' Wazer knew the answer before it came.

'Chill strain 294.'

'Even the Mechanicus priests?' Wazer asked.

'Affirmative and are they leaking!' Stef said smiling before cocking her head in pity. 'Sorry to break the news to you.'

'Throne damned XO should have told me.'

Wazer's dataslate beeped. A short glance made her eye's roll. She held it up so that Stef could look at it.

'Apparently shift three isn't coming due to unforeseen consequences. I am advised to improvise. Emperor protect me…' Wazer held up one of her dataslates to Stef.

'Could you…?' She raised her eyebrows in surprise but took the slate.

'Sure don't worry; I was slated to run this show after you got down with this Velden dirt anyway. The Scions will be able to fend for themselves. It's not as if the pilots don't know how to run the basics on their voidbirds.' Stef gestured towards the covered up Lightnings in the hangar before continuing. 'And if they can't, well then they have a lot bigger problems. But where are you going?'

'Trying to improvise things, I'm going to see if I can savlar the muddwellers' Enginseer for this. He is around here somewhere.'

'Can't you vox him?'

'No, Guard – Navy communication restrictions ninth edition; Mechanicus appendix I article III section seventeen.' She shrugged at her friend's expression, better people than her lowly self had written those regulations down.

Enginseer Leeg was finishing the process of invocations and binary prayers. His cybernetic frame doubled up to reach into the engine compartment of _Up yours, _using his mechandrites and servo arm to work the necessary runes in the corners. He and his flock of multitask servitors, assisted by the operators of the 5th company machines were appeasing, invoking, and repairing the machine-spirits, intoning the will of the Emperor Omnissiah into them. The portents were good; the active operating cycle would be well lubricated.

He knew his charges well and so could devote a relatively large amount to them, aided as he was by the devoted operators. The 5th possessed some chimeras, sentinels of both variants, a single Bane Wolf and the captain's customized command chimera the _Nova Ignis_.

Leeg prided, a weakness of flesh Leeg resented, himself in his knowledge of their individual spirits and how to bind them. _Face Eater_'s Chem-Cannon always had a temper but he knew how to sooth the decade old machine and make sure it only belched toxic contempt when it was ordered to. The_ Majestic Prowler's_ auspexes ghosted when not maintained properly every eleven cycles. _Fury of Arbet_ had taken well to the repair on its left leg. The _Nova Ignis_ was proud and potent as always. _Auditor from Novter_, reliable as ever. Speedy _Red Marquis_ with its warpaint. Blocky, unsubtle _War Plow_ with its spiky dozerblade. All of them were covered in a camouflage pattern for another campaign. Under Debate was not as grey as Gaenrouw, but it would have to do.

Enginseers did not posses high priority by the Magos' Mechanicus, due to never adding to the Quest for Knowledge. Though their position as lowly yet vital cogs within the Great Machine, was not undervalued either. Leeg was just another vitally insignificant cog within the Great Engine.

Despite his apparent focus Leeg wasn't startled at all by Wazer's approach. And if he was there was no way to tell. He simply blocked out her specific data input and cycled up the automagic answer from his voxbox.

'Please excuse me whilst I humbly finish this undertaking in the name of the Omnissiah. This may take a few minutes.'

Despite not having a few minutes Wazer politely gave Leeg, that was his name right, the required time. Like anyone serving the Holy Fleet she knew the importance of properly maintained machines for their collective Duty. Though it was less then a minute it seemed more like an hour before Leeg ceased his binary chanting. With more grace than Wazer expected the Enginseer extracted himself from the engine compartment and erected himself fully, gently smoothed his oil slick red robes with his arachnid mechandrites. The orbs in his face whizzed and clicked as he focused upon Wazer.

'What do you require sub-lieutenant?'

Wazer wasn't at all surprised that the techpriest had remembered her name.

'Blessed adapt of the Mechanicus, I require your help. A biological disease has spread amongst the crew. It has even affected your brethren from the _Steadfast_. Though I have been reliably informed that the medicaes can handle it. However the disruption has affected the final preparations. And as such I require your aid in preparing the transport craft.'

Leeg stood as rigid as a statue in apparently deep contemplation but he was in fact communicating. Via direct vox-link he updated High Enginseer Richardt on his ad hoc status of pastoral care for the Naval transport. He then bowed his head as per standard social scripts to indicate readiness. And something that could have been the grotesque equivalent of a smile crossed the tech-priests.

Every time the 13th had been stationed aboard a Naval vessel he had been inloading data and manuals on the divine machines present but outside his own flock. Where possible he spend his low throughput time observing parts of his brethrens maintenance cycles. Ever since he had first inloaded data on his infected brethren from the noosphere Leeg had forecast this possibility. And now it appeared that the Omnissiah indeed had greater function for him. He offered a prayer in binary for effective quarantine.

Wazer had the suspicious feeling that Leeg knew the specifics about the strain 294 outbreak better than she did. She also believed that the priest knew the routes to the hangar as good, if not better, as she did with her lifelong experience, yet did not dare to ask.

'Please follow me.' She asked respectfully. 'I'm curious Enginseer Leeg. How does the Mechanicus feel about our coming task?'

'Curiosity is a good thing, when used frugally.' The techpriest's scripts demanded he state. 'In answer to your question; we view this task as positive. The darkened people of Under Debate will ascend with the arrival of the Emperor Omnissiah. And as such it will fuel the Great Engine like all loyal worlds.' The latter sentences were scripted but were apparently sufficient according to Leeg's observation of the sub-lieutenant's body language.

Wazer remained quiet while leading the Enginseer up towards the deck carrying the transports, though she quickly signed off on a few slates given to her and directed others to Stef. When they arrived she was afraid to look at the chrono, worried that it might make her hurry and offend the priest.

'Several of your brethren around here are finishing the processes of flight preparation. Most of the blessed craft have already been sanctified and are being boarded by the Guard, but not all of them. Those-she gestured at a trio in the rear- still require ministrations, anything you can do to speed up the process would be appreciated Enginseer.' Wazer stood silently before the equally silent Leeg before adding unsurely. 'That's it.'

Leeg finished noospherically communicating with his brethren before making the sign of the Cog and the Aquila in a scripted move. Leeg understood the need for the scripts, though he mostly did not comprehend the scripts themselves.

'My objectives and parameters are now clear sub-lieutenant. Thank you for allowing my service to increase efficiency.' He bowed and walked off to work on the designated Arvus Lighter. Wazer took that as her own cue and quickly sprinted back to Stef.

Enthusiastically, if such an inappropriate word must be used, Leeg started his ministrations. Datacords slithered out of his robes and connected those part of himself to the craft's datagate. His bio-systems increased slightly in activity as he roused the Arvus Lighter's machine-spirit from slumber in one point one second. Exchanging identification greetings with the machine-spirit Leeg began the rite of diagnostics. The stubborn machine-spirit reluctantly listed its faults. Only a few minor discrepancies appeared in Leeg's mind and he began the necessary rituals to rectify them. After completion Leeg noospherically filed a report to his brethren and continued on with the next craft.

After what subjectively seemed scant milliseconds, though it was objectively thirteen minutes and forty seven seconds, Leeg received a burst of binary from High Enginseer Richardt that he needed to embark. With minor reluctance Leeg ceased operations and let his fellow Enginseers know.

Reviewing the data coming in Leeg concluded that the laities performance at inloading his flock in his absence had remained within acceptable parameters. The Saints took their technoarcane duties seriously, a noteworthy feature of all Novter regiments Leeg had been informed.

'Status report Leeg.'

It was only when a lone man holding a warm cup of herbal infusion addressed Leeg specifically and the voice was ran through identification filters that Leeg ran the appropriate scripts and greeted his superior officer. Captain Velden was wearing the ineffective uniform type issued by the Departmento Munitorium for socio-political operations. Leeg's crosscheck of his social and hierarchy scripts with efficiency and support standards informed him that commenting upon the inefficiency of it was not within his purview.

'By my calculations, assuming a margin of error of 5%, the last vehicles and troops will be secured and ready in their transport craft in approximately three point two five minutes. Leaving point seven five minute to spare captain Velden.'

Tjitse nodded at this and communicated into his micro-bead that there would be no buffer time remaining at the current pace. There was no real reply only meaningless vocalizations but analyses suggested it was the open officers channel. Leeg briefly wondered about the falsehood of the message. Such untruths were common within the Guard and for some reason it was deemed to increase effectiveness, even more unexpectedly there was supporting evidence. Then Leeg's mental programming activated. The current chain of thought was classified as non goal oriented. A series of possible goal orientated paths were brought up and determined upon.

'What is the condition of commissar Alex captain Velden?' The captain appeared surprised at the question, perhaps it had not been the best option Leeg contemplated, but he replied nonetheless.

'With intensive bionic surgery and the Emperors protection he might be able to physically return to combat fitness in a few months. But it's a moot question now Enginseer.'

Leeg's Enginseer level bionic upgrades and scripting, were insufficient to properly analyze Tjitse's bio systems and give an accurate estimate as to the captains meaning and emotional levels. To the best of his insufficient analyses the captain was experiencing a lack of emotions. It wasn't unexpected, commissars are noticeably unpopular in the Imperial Guard, with only few exceptions and so the captain would likely experience little stress concern.

Leeg searched the noosphere for information concerning the commissar's current specifics. It took two point three seconds to find it in the mass of data coursing through the ships noosphere. It appeared that the commissar would be forced to defend himself in a court-martial for possession and use of dangerous illegal substances; while he was still in a coma. In fact the former was likely the reason for the latter according to the bio-chemical analyses. Leeg concluded that the commissar's chances of winning the court martial was approaching zero.'

'Can we anticipate a more effective model to be delivered to the fifth during this execution?'

'Unknown, probably not. Finish your duties Enginseer, time is limited.'

'Yes captain Velden.'

Tjitse looked at the Techpriest for a few seconds before finishing his drink and embarking his transport. Feeling a familiar knot of anxiety, fear, impatience, anticipation and savage glee in his stomach Tjitse held on tightly to his cane.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

_Ignorance is bliss_

Common knowledge 

Tjitse boarded his designated transport. It was a small but sturdy craft, barely capable of carrying him and his command squad thanks to some ingenious stacking by the loadmasters. Equipment and supplies were fastened within, above and even underneath the _Nova Ignis_. They had even stripped the seats and replaced them with crates. But even using all the tricks in the book the pilots would have to make another run to transport the whole of the fifth and its equipment to the surface. The Saints had boarded via space station on Sherxis and were expected to leave via one at either Gaenrouw or Hellicus.

Not for the first time Tjitse sighed in relieve at Under Debate's feudal nature. If they were trying to pull this against a civilized world they would be cut down so fast it wouldn't even be funny. The Scholam Militant on Novter had trained him well, his knowledge did not begin and end with the bayonet.

Wazer had entered the transport just behind him and in a fluid motion strapped herself in, smirking at the fumbling Guard before sighing. If they couldn't even strap themselves in they deserved to die horribly due to turbulence.

All seemed in order until Tjitse's eye's fell upon a lone figure standing forgotten in a corner. He made an inaudible sigh. 'Strap him in Pyt.' He gestured at the statue like Astropath. 'Yes sir.' As Pyt aided the wreck of a man Tjitse made his way to the cockpit. With minor acrobatics he managed to squeeze himself through the small hatchway. Inside the cramped cockpit Tjitse asked for a vox line to the other transports. The pilot frowned but gave him the horn before continuing flipping switches.

'From S1/A1/1 this is captain Tjitse. Everyone sound off.'

One by one all platoons confirmed their ready status, Eefje's platoon last. Tjitse wished them all the Emperors protection before closing the link. A quick check of his internal chrono confirmed Leeg's estimate. He gave the horn back to the pilot who had completed his pre-flight checks. Tjitse was about to strap himself in when he remembered the little data unit he carried in his breast pocket, the men demanded their pre-flight ritual.

'Here, play this music while we descend.' He started to pull it out but it got stuck in some loose threads.

'No need captain. One of your underlings already gave me this.'

The pilot tapped at a data unit sticking out of one of the ships datagates. Tjitse nodded appreciatively, Pyt had already taken care of it.

A monotone voice crackled through the ships vox system beginning a countdown. Tjitse hurried back and strapped himself into the remaining free seat.

Shocks, vibrations and noise filled the compartment as the craft's engines engaged, slowly building up the energy required to carry its heavy load. Tjitse tried to relax himself. The single drop of old blood looked old, the new blood tried to mimic him. Seeing the excited disciple Mar Tjitse noticed a faint green look on the man's face. Tjitse offered an earnest prayer to the Emperor for protection.

The transport lurched forward and accelerated quickly. Tjitse winced, like everybody else safe Wazer, as the heavily vibrating craft left the _Steadfast's _gravity envelope. Trying to focus on anything but what was happening Tjitse turned hopefully to the expected music. Frowning he leaned to his side.

'Pyt, did you pick this?' Tjitse motioned indicating the music. There was a confused look on the adjutant's face which told Tjitse enough. 'The clergy.' He said with a scowl. Tjitse quickly regained himself. There was nothing he could do about it. He focused on something more positive, Under Debate and all the glory that could be archived into the eternal records of the Imperium. After all what difficulties could a feudal world really be?

The music suddenly stopped. Static hissed before the pilots voice came over the system.

'Dear Guardsmen and Guardswomen of Transport craft #1, this is your captain speaking. On this beautiful day we set out to begin the glorious conquest of Under Debate. We're currently travelling through the exosphere and so far we're on schedule. No delays are expected during this flight. At the moment we are travelling with a smooth kilometer per second. Thank you for choosing _Steadfast_ space travel inc. as your spaceline of choice for this pilgrimage. If you have any questions our flight hostess Wazer and our tour operator Velden will happily be of your assistance.'

Pilot Dakovic smiled to himself as he closed the channel. He was so funny; this was going to be the best flight any of those muddwellers will ever have. He wondered though why they would stuff the company's senior Guard officer in an Arvus like this, after a few seconds he got it and grinned. Pity for Wazer, but hey, she would understand, Naval code and all. Dakovic mused on the proper way to fly. How how he should actually be flying a Lightning with the Scions squadron. He met minimal blood line requirements. He certainly had the dash and daring necessary for the Duty. He knew he was good but for some reason he never made the cut. Admittedly there were only a few seats available and there was rarely a new opening. But, he should be flying them in his professional opinion. Till then flying the _primus inter pares_ of the _Steadfast's_ Transport wing would have to do. His natural skill still landed him some cushy flights. Like this one, carrying some muddwellers. Normally he would get to have fun with some mighty fine stunting. But now he had sub-lieutenant Wazer in the cargo hold. Like an archaic Naval saying went, Wazer "did a buck and is now officially unofficially stuck, but unofficially officially still good for luck," or something like that. He forgot. Anyway this was his chance to impress Wazer. And humor had always helped him beforehand. Yeah, they were probably laughing out loud in the hold, Wazer would remember this trip the next time a seat opened in 'her' squadron. A sly smile crossed his face. It was always better to be sure. So he reckoned that he should at least try to show Wazer more of his…skills later on. He made a pelvic thrust to emphasize his point to the uncaring blue, green and white planet below.

If Tjitse heard correctly than Wazer was muttering about forcing Dakovic to do something anatomically impossible. The men were sniggering and casting the quietly fuming sub-lieutenant glances. The upside was that everyone safe her was significantly more at ease now. The downside for Dakovic was that both Tjitse and Wazer were sensitive when it came to their authority. But the commissariat's lash would have to wait until after the flight. He was powerless right now, but afterwards… Tjitse regained some of his mood when he thought of the consequences of anyone calling Wazer an air hostess.

Wazer meanwhile shot some of the troopers a look that could melt through the hull. She understood why the muddweller command squad got the crappy transport and why she had to be there, she had resigned herself to it. But this...to be humiliated before these muddwellers… that knuckledragger would pay! Dakovic would be lucky with just twenty lashes! The thought put an evil smile on her face.

'Sub-lieutenant when was the last time you had proper soil under your feet?' Tjitse asked.

Wazer didn't expect the question, or in fact any question. The difficulty of understanding the muddwellers accent over the roar of the engines didn't help either.

'My Lightning squadron was once stationed on a moon for a month. That was well before picking you 'Saints' up above Sherxis like we're a glorified air taxi.' She hoped that would shut off any attempt at further conversation.

'Sub-lieutenant please answer the question and refer to me as sir.'

Tjitse's voice was calm but still struck Wazer. She quickly regained herself having expected the vaunted Guard to take some jibes at her sooner.

'Uhm…well never actually, sir. I was born on the _Steadfast_. My father piloted a Marauder, like my grandmother before him. My mother was chief of the medical deck, she was trained by the Scholam Progenium.'

Tjitse could hear the pride in her voice. He wasn't very familiar with Naval aristocracy but being in control of a fully equipped medicae sanctum was well up the pecking order by any standard. He did notice that the previous two generations had been bomber pilots and she was a fighter pilot. A very respectable family in the micro Imperium of the _Steadfast. _Pyt turned to her.

'So you never experienced any type of weather?'

'I've flown through plenty of storms in my line of Duty.'

'No I mean on the ground. As a person not a pilot.'

Wazer frowned slightly.

'No I have not. Why do you ask?'

'Oh nothing really, just curious.'

Tjitse hid his smile well, as did every Guardsman on board who heard. The meteorological services had given a ninety percent chance of rain. Wazer had probably read it but not fully understood its implications. And even if the landing zone was a sunny field, being a week down on a planet presented plenty of opportunities to be introduced to all sorts of interesting weather phenomena.

'So you have never seen, smelt or felt actual dirt under your feet?' Pyt stared unbelieving at Wazer who bit back a sharp retort.

'No. No I have not.'

Several people in the hold grinned evilly. Wazer was starting to feel suspicious. Those who could looked upon Wazer with a mix of mischief and pity. Something in the back of Wazer's mind told her that going dirtside might have been a bad idea. Then a slightly bearded man, with an Aquila tattoo on his forehead and a plasma gun strapped to his chest poked his head from around the _Nova_.

'So about this defiant class ship of yours. Like how does lance weaponry like? Like mine -he pointed at his plasma gunner insignia- or his? –pointing at a red headed lasgunner. I know you're Ignorant and all but are you unaware?'

Wazer was speechless, these, these _dog_ soldiers asked her questions about such deep matters!? 'Hey I want to know something to, if the captain-he pointed at Tjitse-and the ship's captain ever meet do they refer to each other as captain?' This time Wazer recognized the one who had asked the question, Velden's adjutant Pyt.

'I'm sure the sub-lieutenant is perfectly capable and willing to answer all your questions.'

Tjitse gave a small confident nod, urging them to continue, focusing his men's attention upon something other than the descending craft. As a bonus the air hostess would provide for entertainment. Despite being stuck on ships like the _Steadfast_ for months the Imperial Guard regiments knew surprisingly little about the ancient craft that transported them, due to a lack of curiosity, security clearance and Naval-Guard cooperation. Subtly forcing the situation had equally subtly reaffirmed his authority, he hoped the petitioning pilot would die unpleasantly.

Wazer was being jumped with questions, requests for comments and speculation from almost every trooper. Tjitse quietly sized her up. The Navy was an unorthodox ally to get higher up the Guard chain, and vice versa. In large part because the Navy wanted very little to do with the Guard, and vice versa. It wasn't an unprecedented career move either.

Contemplating his options Tjitse played with his cane for a moment until the skull caught his gaze. The subtly engraved scriptures felt fluid yet clearly defined beneath his fingers; he cared less about the actual content.

Tjitse blinked and frowned. He had realized the idiot pilot had forgotten to turn the music back on. Despite his own hidden issues with it the Saints seemed to accept the new music. But all came over the vox now was an annoying static hiss. He secured his cane and started to unstrap. Now he had an excuse to tell the Throne damned pilot where he could stick his jokes.

Wazer was being mentally overwhelmed. In the back of her mind a little voice said that it would be an interesting trip dirtside. The problem with these muddwellers was that they were in awe, they just weren't overawed by the mechanical mysteries of the _Steadfast_. And so they just wouldn't shut up. Warpstorms and rust take these "Saints" and their "captain" Veld…

'What in the name of the Golden Throne are you doing? Captain Velden? Sir?' Wazer was alarmed, you didn't unstrap during entry, it just didn't happen on tightly run ship like Osissis captained. If they encountered enemy fire, or, far more likely, turbulence he would suffer. On second thought no one probably explained that to the muddwellers. Regardless Tjitse didn't answer her; his focus was upon keeping a steady footing as he made his way to the cockpit.

'The captain is probably getting the music started again. Isn't that right guys?' Another plasma gunner spoke, trying to sound reassuring. This one was barely out of his teens and had white streaks in his dark blond hair and tried to sound reassuring. But Wazer wouldn't have it. Idiotic muddwellers doing idiotic things, Throne help her.

From somewhere behind the chimera a voice shouted out.

'I hope Tjitse puts the new stuff on Dirk. I like the music from home but you got to sample some of the other stuff the Imperium has to offer. It's got good low-high interplay with the supporting ensembles. Though I don't think Robin likes it much.' A trooper with short blonde hair and a reliable face tried to poke his nose around _Nova Ignis_.

'Captain Velden…' Pyt stressed the Tjitse's last name.

'…will put on whatever the captain pleases private Haat.' A leftover from when Novter was a backwater frontier world, well more than currently at least, can be found in its unconventional name and rank system. Chain of command is as absolute as anywhere in the Guard. But the external trappings weren't considered as important as the rest of the Segmentum found healthy. There was a boundary between officers and enlisted men. Outsiders were also an issue. As many a duel has proven you never know how people react. There is a rich cultural variety within the Imperium, the so called 'Imperial' culture no more than a loose condensation of thousands of related cultures. Roughly speaking the more distant you got from the 'centers' of Imperial power the more pluriform the cultures. And Ysleeth was a remote sector and the Justinian March a minor sub-sector. Pyt continued the conversation after his rebuke of Lieve Haat.

'It's not bad though I'll always prefer the Gunham style from home. But I think the lyrics suit the occasion. Do you know where Tjitse got it from?' Pyt asked pointedly.

A smiling Piers interjected at that point. 'From me. It was inspired by the words and life of Saint Mariken. You see during her life in flesh the saint…'

Tjitse reached the cockpit hatch and opened it. But then the craft suddenly jerked before recovering, Dakovic had been startled by Tjitse's sudden appearance. Tjitse barely kept his head from slamming against the frame. Some cries from the cargo hold told him that some hadn't been as fortunate.

'Though I love the sound of static through the vox more then your bone'ead ramblings there is still something sweeter above static. Guess what it is?'

The pilot shot him an infuriated. How dare the mud startle him, the pilot of this fine craft, and give attitude. He was about to give the rusting muddweller a but kept his cool until on the ground, the bastard might just start a fight. Before he could come up with something subtly insulting the muddweller had closed the hatch. Dakovic could still hear a few words.

'I can't imagine why you're stuck flying this.'

Dakovic's anger subsided and he couldn't help but grin. The Guard captain might be a muddwelling bastard but at least the man recognized Dakovic's skill when he made that expert recovery. No doubt he was still shaken from the jerk. Yes that would explain a lot. The attitude was just a coping mechanism. Unlike him, he didn't do that, he quickly recovered and moved on. It was a blessing and a curse for a real pilot in his opinion. Must have been something in his upbringing. Or else it was genetic. Oh wait the music.

Tjitse squeezed his way back to his seat. Conversation seemed to center around father Piers as well now with the _Nova's_ crew, Thim and Klaas hanging on his lips. Hein and Red Ed divided their attention between them and Wazer. Veteran corporal Sybrand looked faintly amused as he watched Tjitse enter. He knew why. Mar saw him enter, looking smug but he didn't meet Tjitse's eyes. When Piers noticed that Tjitse had returned he directed his words to him.

'Captain, thank you for putting the music back on. '_Strafing run of the Valkyries_' is an excellent piece in my opinion. I can't speak for the other craft but everyone here liked your improvement.'

Tjitse doubted that it would be possible for Mar to turn his head around any faster. Luckily none gave him any notice. Tjitse smiled. He understood what the old man was doing. Giving him the credit so he wouldn't feel slighted. Tjitse could work with that, no problem, no problem at all.

'Thank you father. I always enjoy the sound of a good strafing run myself.'

'As do all true Guardsmen. I'm sure even the sub-lieutenant enjoys it.' He gave the woman a fatherly smile. She however hadn't paid much attention and looked up confused before simply replying.

'Yes father.' Piers seemed to beam at that.

'Excellent, excellent. But I don't think you've heard how this music was selected?' Piers was about to speak but Tjitse calmly cut in.

'I had no knowledge of such when I selected today's music. In hindsight I believe it do be divinity giving me a small nudge don't you agree?' Tjitse subtly underlined the I's and me while all the while smiling at the old priest. Who seemed pleased in the way a regicide player is. Mar looked confused but no one paid him any attention. Dirk, Ewout and medicae Koen were annoying Wazer but the rest paid attention to what Tjitse and Piers were saying.

'Absolutely. The Emperor is with His faithful, now and always. Guiding them through the darkness and towards the victorious light. Just like when Saint Mariken…' The priest had given Tjitse his due, now he could focus again on spiritually uplifting the 'Saints', Emperor knew they needed it..

Dakovic frowned. Transports were not endowed with antique sensors, but if he was to believe his readouts then a storm was rapidly building over his designated landing zone. Some weather had been anticipated, but this baby looked more severe than the forecasts by an order of magnitude. It didn't cause him too much concern. Imperial transports were build to withstand heavier weather. And the landing zone was a clear field, so the storm's interference with his attempts to read the area wasn't a real problem either. Still, protocol was sacrosanct so he called it in. He grinned at the clouds. The Guard was going to get soaked he concluded happily, oh and the sub-lieutenant as well, that was a slight downer.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

"_Rejoice in your devastation."_

Saint Boniface. The Faithfull Demand, chapter nine.

Captain Osissis granted himself a moment to reacquaint with the _Steadfast_. Maddening and magnificent, the excruciating grandness of the noble ship ebbed away until it merely echoed across his entire being, _was_ his entire being, and his minds surfaced above the data waves. A subtle tremor echoed throughout the ships systems, some recognized it as a satisfied sigh.

The pulse of his organic and nuclear hearts beating in unison, slowly settling back to their normal rhythm. Deaf ears listened to the loud stillness of the vacuum for the songs painted by his brethren. The searingly cold lance turrets that are his arms were sleeved. The thousands of skilled men and women working inside of him were like the buzz of the blessed ant, industrious, vital and ignorant. Hundreds of progeny were feverishly being readied in his thorax. The familiar tone of chatter accompanied the radiant vision of S1/A1 and S2/T1-2 soaring through the blistering vacuum.

Osissis turned a part of his mind back to the dirty water from whence it came. General Antsi nervously paced around the strategium in an irritating manner. Osissis realized he had missed what Antsi had said and so he replayed it from his buffers.

'The Emperor commands and we humbly obey.' Captain Osissis replied serenely. It was as simple as that Osissis concluded. Antsi however turned around as if stung and looked into Osissis' circuit inlaid eyes.

'That's platitude and you know it. This entire execution could have been done by just the _Ship o' Plenty _in support of the _Ophelia Ranger_. Throne, even the _Ranger_ itself! I don't understand why we have to be here doing virtually nothing while the real fight lies with the Fa Reconfirmation and most defiantly not with…' Antsi's looked as if he was regurgitating something vile. '…Under Debate, pathetic dirtball.' Osissis smiled serenely as Antsi continued. 'Fa is where millions of Guardsmen are heading to mete out righteous violence upon the foul Xeno and Heretic.' Antsi smiled with savage glee.

'Fa Reconfirmation. Is that the name sector-command finally selected? Last I heard Reauthorisation and Reclamation were still options. Regardless, the strategic execution will take a lot longer than the week this detour is scheduled for. Surely your tacticians will have informed you of such. See it as easy glory before the real deal when you're back amongst family.'

'Glory is a desire of the self. Duty before the Emperor is where my heart and soul lie. I am ignorant of all else.' Antsi declared haughty. Osissis was about to cock an eyebrow and deliver a subtly scathing reply when his better half demanded full attention. With a nudge of his mind he forced the message along electronic currents so as to display it hololithicly for the Guard general, a courtesy as a host. It was a short message concerning the _Ophelia Ranger's_ intent to break formation and to start scanning further in system. The rest was simply a repeat of previous orders. That he, as senior captain of the ad hoc flotilla was to continue supervising the deployment. The sleek glaive that was the _Ophelia Ranger_ broke formation tens of thousands of kilometers away and purposefully moved among gas giants. A series of calculations, projections and scenarios entered Osissis' mind but he delegated them to a bridge pulpit.

'I have the first Imperial deployment to Under Debate to coordinate. Unless you have anything to add in your capacity as ranking Imperial Guard officer I suggest we both return to our immediate duties. We can continue our discussion on Imperial resource allocation at a further time.'

'I would love to continue later on captain. We could discuss about the 'invasion' with an excellent bottle of Belleter Tempenac, perhaps during dinner?' Antsi asked with a slight undertone.

'Certainly general. If you would be so kind to send the bottles over I will make arrangements for dinner in the observatorium. We could observe the invasion as it happens.'

'A splendid idea. I'm looking forward to it already captain.' Though both were aware of the fact that one was laughing inside and one cursing himself, the overall tone remained polite.

With that both men saluted towards each other. Osissis added a mental note and notified his chamberlain about the diner. He swiveled his throne towards a cluster of booths decorated with a brass inlaid Imperial Eye, granting the occupying officers his flesh gaze so as to inspire them to acts of greater efficiency. Antsi meanwhile turned around to walk across the black marble floor towards the strategium's lock. Osissis placed his mind in between binary teeth before the spirits recognized its sole master. The overlapping adamantium spheres of the strategium began to slide over each other until the hole in each layer overlaid with the rest. Steam hissed as the final sphere locked into place, a small vibration followed as the surrounding void shield dissipated allowing Antsi to exit the bright serenity of the strategium to join his waiting retinue in the overcrowded cacophony of the main bridge.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

In full battle regalia, the Ring of Rulers on his hand, medallion of Arras, depicting the Eagle with two Suns beside its head, hanging around his neck, Leod had donned his second hand royal armor, the purple heraldry of Yzer still proudly emblazoned upon it. Leod rode past his assembled troops one last time, betraying none of the anxiety within; death would separate brothers from each other, a last look before the storm. A few last inspirational words. A last rousing shout from all nobles, knights, freemen and serfs proclaiming their loyalty to the Heaven Gods and Leod, lust for victory and raw rage. Leod gave the signal. A series of well placed tents and banners had hidden them from enemy view. Surprise was key. These obstacles were quickly brought down by waiting peasants using ropes. A wave to the musicians commenced the signal to attack.

The assembled host advanced through the opening in their camp under the howling of horns and wind. Leod rode at the forefront of his host like any good king should, his blood-guards just behind him.

The storm had darkened the field further, long grass was whipped around mercilessly by the howling wind, rain fell from the swirling black clouds in the sky, lightning flashed and thunder cracked around them. A fitting décor for whatever happens.

Strange, Leod thought, to feel both nervous and calm. Nervous because this was his first battle as king. And because if they failed then the Storm would overrun the whole of Erep. He was calm because the dice had been cast, how it would land only the changing wind would know.

Approaching the enemy Leod could make out the more and more details of the Storm Sworn encampment. Ironically they were busy hastily erecting their tents to protect them from the storm. His heart jumped as he could make out the size of the camp more clearly. It appeared that their initial estimate of the enemies' strength was too high. Instead of the four and a half thousand he had feared it was only three thousand. Leod made a wry smile, o_nly_. His smile improved as he noticed the relative lack of heraldry for an army that size. His high hope moderated itself as he remembered that heavily armored and superbly trained and dedicated knights were no longer the unchallenged lords of battle they once were, not when foul Stormcraft was at play.

Leod shuddered within his armor. The Storm deployed the dishonorable smoke-light weapons en masse. Peasants could now take out an armored knight at close range, if they hit, if not…well; peasants with guns were far more expendable than a nobleman trained since childhood in the best equipment. But worst of all were the infernal light-fire weapons. More powerful, longer ranged, more accurate and far, far faster rate of fire than the 'normal' smoke-lights. Just one such weapon had turned Yzer and a hundred other nobles into twitching corpses. It almost single handedly turned the battle in the enemies favor, almost. By the skin of his teeth, the blessing of the Heaven Gods, a minor head wound and sheer dumb luck he, Leod, had managed to prevail where so many of his kin had fallen. Slowly he began to believe that Yzer and the Gods may actually be right about him.

Thunder shook Leod from his reverie. He dared to grin, the Suns and the Eagle protected them. The Storm Sworn still hadn't noticed them approaching. Perhaps it was the low light, the noise from the wind and thunder, divine protection, the sheer arrogance of the Storm Sworn or a combination of both. They simply hadn't contemplated a royalist attack, it would be mad, insane. And now they were going to make the monsters pay Leod knew as the knights started to gallop. Focusing his mind upon the enemy using hate, grief and love to keep it sharp and deadly as a blade, focused upon the enemies heart.

When the Storm finally noticed that their prey had viciously turned around under the cover of the storm, horns and trumpets sounded to alert, half heard shouts for men to form up struggled to be heart above the weather, frantic movement as men scrambled for weapons they, armor, orders, clarification, positions and the aid of a Storm that abandoned them long ago.

Royalist horn blowers strained their lungs one last time as lances lowered and steeds were spurred onwards by reckless masters. The war cry's of the infantry behind grew in volume and blocked out the storm. Leod didn't notice any of it, his entire world consisted of what he could see through the twin slits in his helmet; the enemy approaching fast before him. Two quick flashes illuminated the feeble attempts of the enemy to organize a defense. A few desperate flickers from the smoke-lights. In the distance he could hear a man baying for blood.

For one moment all was still within Leod; and then the charging wall of steel and flesh impacted with the enemy. A duo of smoke-lighters in leather armor their faces a sick shade of green. Leod's heavy lance forced its way straight through the chest of the first one, it erupted through the enemies back and pierced the armor of the second one. It felt as if his arm would break under the stress but he didn't care and held firm, instead Leod's lance shattered. Dropping the weapon he drew his sword in a smooth motion as he and Onyx rode on. Fingers clenched around the hilt Leod knew; he had them. He had those thrice damned Heaven forsaken backstabbing bastards now! 'Blood!' Leod cried out as Onyx galloped over a wide eyed ländser, a boy almost, hands raised in surrender. The boy's youth and bones were trampled into the dirt. To his right a pair of enemy camp aides cowered behind a tent; out of reach. Momentum wasted that opportunity for him but presented him with another ländser holding a spear, only lightly armored. The spearman made a hasty thrust for Leod's chest but he caught it easily with his shield. Leod's first blow pushed the weapon aside, the next into the enemies neck. For a moment the spearman looked wild-eyed at Leod. He and Onyx moved on. Movement on his left caused him to instinctively thrust out with his shield. Instead of using Leod's distraction by going for Onyx or a joint the Sworn had blindly hacked at him instead. The shock from the two handed axe impacting against his shield rang through his left arm. He didn't see the spear coming for his face, reflex and armor stopped any real damage. Capturing the spear between his shield and sword Leod leveraged it slightly aside before pushing Onyx forward, forcing the weapon out of the enemy's hand while keeping his shield towards the axe swinger. Turning Onxy to the side he saw to his horror that the spearman and the axe swinger were one and the same. It allowed the muscular Storm Sworn with three arms and three eyes to draw a back up dagger though he didn't get in a good blow with his axe, yet left him unbalanced. Leod pushed the axe with his shield, taking a minor risk he ignored the dagger and went for the head, severely denting the metal and sending the twisted Storm Sworn to the ground. Though it didn't pierce the wretch's helmet the impact was strong enough to break the skull underneath.

Pain seared through Leod's right leg. In one fluid motion he used the rebound against the axe man's head to swing it an arc to his right. Leod's sword was blocked by a raised shield but the force of the impact forced it down. In a quick thrust forward the blade went into the wretches mouth breaking teeth and cutting the spine. Like a sack of grain he went down into the mud, wrenching the sword from Leod's hand.

Onyx neighed and kicked out with his front legs. He hit a chainmail armored freeman square in the chest, fracturing his sternum and knocking him out of the fight. A Storm Sworn knight in exotic laminated armor from Ascha approached Leod and raised his sword in formal salute and challenge. Despite his contempt for the foe Leod felt honor bound to return the formal gesture. The Storm knight didn't wait for him to finish, the coward lashed out with his sword when Leod's arm was still high. Only the deeply ingrained reflexes caused by years of training saved him with a narrow parry. Leod's hatred reached new levels and he made the dishonorable move of hacking at the neck of the enemy's steed. The animal and its surprised rider crashed into the mud. Instinctively the enemy lashed out with his sword, slashing across Onyx's armored flanks to no effect before hitting Leod's steel boot. Blood lust made biting down the pain of broken toes an inconvenience. A downwards thrust hit the Storm knight just as he looked up, impacting against the faceguard. Blood leaked out from beneath the armor and the man grunted. The Storm Sworn's counter-attack almost unseated Leod, it was Onyx that saved him from going down with a kick to the enemy's thighs. Raising himself upward he continued the movement, building greater momentum and brought his sword down in a quick arc, hitting the top of the helmet before sliding down the side and hitting the shoulder armor. Onyx didn't need any encouragement to trample him into the mud.

'Thank you friend.'

Looking around him a piece of mud was flung into Leod's eye. With a grunt Leod pulled his bloody sword free, some fleshy bits followed and clogged his left eye slit. Clumsily he tried to clear the slit, keeping his useful eye watchful for any attacks against him, he needed his vision. Soon he had cleaned enough to regain some vision; the rain would take care of the rest. Leod turned his attention to his surroundings. A shape in the melee to his left drew his attention, features obscured by darkness and rain. At that moment lightning flashed, illuminating the battlefield, allowing Leod to identify the object in the Storm Sworn's bejeweled hand, a small richly decorated smoke-light pointing straight at him. The man's pale face was handsome and he wore exquisite clothing but the pitch black orbs of his eyes mirrored the heart of his treasonous masters. Leod vaguely recognized him; a traitor true and true. The smile evaporated from the merchant's face when the Storm betrayed him and the weapon wouldn't fire. Leod smiled like an Eagle going for the kill. Struggling to reach his backup weapon Leod ordered Onyx forward and brought his sword down into the traitors left shoulder. Blood flowed from the wound as Leod raised his sword and brought it down again, striking deep enough to reach the heart.

Looking around for other threats Leod almost went for one of his own. He blinked and then recognized the knight as being count Deorwine. Blinking again he became more aware of his surroundings. Something of respect was in the counts voice when he spoke to the young knight.

'I thought we almost lost you my king. The way you cut through the Storm Sworn, like Arras himself, no one around to protect your rear. You even left your own blood-guard behind. Were something to happen to you at this time then all would fall into ruin. But the Gods and Powers of Heaven be praised, they protect you and give strength to your sword arm my king. '

Leod breathed heavily, just looking at the nobleman. It took a few seconds before the words started to sneak past the feral joy. Off course Deorwine was right Leod realized. Kingship meant he couldn't just run loose within the melee, whether he wanted to or not. It had a sobering effect on Leod.

Behind them the infantry had engaged the Storm Sworn along the left and right wings, the center was currently mopping up behind them. Cutting through the disorganized and wounded ranks of the enemy with vengeful satisfaction. Small groups of Storm 'nobility' and their retinues were forming islands of resistance trying to link up. One such island was holding its own slightly to his right. In their midst he spotted the banner of 'baron' Altweerd. About a dozen peasants armed only with shields and spear stormed them. The lead one thrusts his spear at a halberdier only to have it deflect on the armor. The halberdier chopped into the spearman's neck before thrusting the tip forward at the man behind that, spraying him with blood. The spearman managed to block it with his shield but the halberd managed to hook behind it. A hard yank and the bloodied spearman was off balance, the halberdier smelled his opening. But before he could take advantage of it he was rammed by a large spearman, eager to aid his comrade, and fell underfoot. The large one went into the opening left by the halberdier, using his shield and elbow to make room. Behind him the bloodied spearman repeatedly stabbed down to finish the downed halberdier. Leod was about to attack but Deorwine deftly blocked Onyx.

'Command us my king.' Leod bristled and was on the verge of pushing his vassal aside roughshod but managed to control himself before nodding and ordering a group of knights and peasants.

'Gods and Powers, Suns and Eagle, loyal soldiers; get me Altweerd's head!' With a cry the men threw themselves forward. The other spearmen, joined by a pair of knights were following the big spearman deeper into defenders, pushing their weight around to widen the gap. The large spearman's hand was crushed to a pulp by a mace. Then the mass of reinforcements arriving in their back caused Leod to lose track of the brave man. Leod looked around further and his heart jumped. Gods and Powers…they were winning. The Storm Sworn were being defeated. They were winning, they were winning! Looking up he laughed and raised his sword to the swirling clouds.

'Were winning. Suns and Eagle were winning!'

A lightning flash snapped his attention back to the ground. He cursed at himself for being distracted, a king should do better.

'Deorwine where are the lords Eomund and Udarans?'

'Cutting down these mongrels along our flanks. Though I am pleased to say that your highness has advanced the furthest into the enemy.'

Leod grinned wolfishly within his helmet at Deorwine.

'Thank you my friend. Send a messenger to order the reserve to advance into our wake and then fan out towards the flanks. Eomund and Udarans will see the enemies opposition crumble quickly when attacked from multiple angles.'

Deorwine bowed his head before his king and motioned for two reluctant squires. Leod smiled at the reluctance of the two young men but his heart froze when he noticed movement behind Deorwine's back. His blood-guard trained reflexes kicked in and he moved forward, images of past failures, real and imagined flashed through his mind. But before he got far the count's blood-guard expertly decapitated the enemy, smoke-light falling harmlessly into the mud.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

In the centre of his view port a maelstrom of clouds was spinning in an exhilarating dance of, of…something. Dakovic recognized the beauty in the swirling clouds through his front view port even though he preferred gas giants. The horizon gradually turned from star speckled black to grey blue atmosphere. Lightning tendrils illuminated clouds before dissipating. Dakovic looked upon his instruments to make the necessary flight adjustments. According to his instruments the storm was increasing in strength and intensity upon his landing zone. He opened a voxline to the _Steadfast's _comptrollers as well as allowing the other landing craft to listen in. There was no reaction and he fine tuned the song of his machine-spirit to cut through the storm's interference.

'This is Alpha-Leopard-One to _Steadfast_ flight comptrole, please come in.'

Dakovic waited for a second, then an unknown woman's voice cut across the line.

'This is _Steadfast_ comptrole. Reading you reasonably clear Alpha-Leopard-One.'

'Comptrole I'm seeing a growing storm over the primary and secondary landing zones. Requesting permission to land at tertiary landing zone.'

'Request acknowledged Alpha-Leopard-One. Stand by.'

It took almost a minute before the machine-spirit's voice changed from hissing to an approximation of the comptroller's. Dakovic could imagine the woman behind the green screen calling for a superior to make the decision for her.

'Request denied Alpha-Leopard-One. Our logic-engines indicate that your machine-spirit can handle the adverse weather.'

'Acknowledged comptrole, requesting permission to go slow during the final decent. Blind approach due to the storm plus heavy wind shear plus ground proximity plus being fat equals disaster, over.'

Again some static hiss across the vox system. This time he could see the woman turning her head to the superior standing behind her.

'Request granted Alpha-Leopard-One. We will notify the other transports. The Emperor protects.'

'The Emperor protects.' Dakovic replied. He considered telling the comptroller that they were already listening in, but he decided against it. If her superior, or worse a commissar, was still listening in then she could get reprimanded, that would just be cruel. She could buy him a drink later.

'Understood comptrole, Alpha-Leopard-One, the Emperor protects'

With a smile oozing schadenfreud Dakovic flipped a switch so that the machine-spirit turned Dakovic's voice to the cargo hold. They were going to get very wet.

Inside the cargo hold the music was cut off again and for a second all that could be heard was static. Tjitse and Wazer hoped that the pilot wouldn't try to be funny again. Tjitse half heartedly entertained the thought to have Wazer take over the controls and have Dakovic beaten but it would probably cause an interservice scandal.

'Guardsmen and guardswomen, this is your pilot speaking.' It might just be worth it Tjitse considered. 'Our landing zone is blanketed by a storm. Turbulence will be likely so fasten your seatbelts and hold on to something.'

The vox cut off again and, small consolation, this time Dakovic didn't forget to turn the music back on. A short moan came from the collective throat of the Saints but their momentary discomfort was nothing compared to the mortified sub-lieutenant.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Leod managed to parry a sword thrust, barely. Fatigue and the damage inflicted upon his body were starting to take their toll. The blade glanced against his left thigh, tending the armor inches away from his leg joint. Though the weak spot was spared the force of the impact would still leave an impressive bruise. Until that time though the feral joy would keep the discomfort at bay. With a rough bellow of rage and suppressed pain on his lips he retaliated. The impact drove the enemy's shield down. The enemy raised his sword to block Leod's next blow, a contemptuous kick against the shield caused the unbalanced man to lose his footing in the mud and fall over. Leod gasped as pain shot up from his broken toes up his leg.

Gritting his teeth Leod moved on to the shabby mercenary rider before him. A hunched rider with rusted equipment on a skinny grey horse. Not even bothering with a traditional salute Leod merely attacked, only to be parried. He quickly brought up his shield to block the Storm Sworn's counter attack. The impact sends the bones in his arm ringing. Angrily Leod pushed with his shield against the enemies sword, trying to keep it clear, granting him the opening that he needed. The mercenary brought his own shield up to block Leod, the impact reverberating through his sword arm. Leod took a moment to take in his enemy. Rusting equipment betraying faded heraldry. It was strangely entrancing. The filth granted it a certain quality that Leod had difficulty keeping his eyes off. A lightning flash caused him to blink and the spell was broken, just in time.

Leod was calm enough to understand that he had underestimated his opponent. Paradoxically this made him even angrier. He struck with his sword again and again and again, his subconscious imparting some skill on his mindless blows. The rusty knight managed to block them all but the furious barrage pushed him back. Trying to regain the initiative the rusty knight spurred his putrid beast forward to ram and unbalance Onyx. It seemed to succeed at first, Onyx was forced back and Leod's onslaught suffered likewise. But it backfired as the indignant Onyx reared and kicked both its legs against shield of the Sworn knight. The powerful impact of the horse's legs shattered the knight's arm with a satisfying crunch. As gravity overtook Onyx Leod made good use of the extra momentum and put all his strength into a powerful arc. Cutting through the bastards iron helmet and getting lodged in the enemy's brain. In the back of his head Leod knew he shouldn't be doing this, Deorwine was right.

From his right an axe man with a bushy beard charged. Leod used his sword to rob the axe of most of its energy before impacting against his shield. Leod's sword was faster in the offense than the bearded man's axe in defense. A slice across the throat caused the Storm Sworn to drop his weapon and reach up with both hands, a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

Up front a disheveled peasant wielding his tool of trade, an old rusty scythe was shaking heavily but not moving otherwise. Leod took his chance. He cut the chine off at the tang, disarming what little threat the runt represented. The shocked peasant threw the stem at Leod and raised his hands in surrender. The wooden stem hit Leod's helmet, reflexively he struck with his sword, cutting off an arm at the elbow. Clutching for bloody stump the peasant fell to his knee's screaming, as good as dead. Immediately Leod regretted his action, deeply disappointed in himself.

His moment cut brutally short as a halberd hooked behind his shield. The Storm Sworn on the other side of the weapon wore chainmail had lost his helmet as blood trickled from beneath blond hairs. The man yanked hard, forcing Leod's shield down. Taking advantage the bastard charged forward aiming for Leod's throat. Instead it hit just below the intended target. It was enough to dent the steel and make breathing difficult. Thinking fast Leod pulled his shield towards himself and pulled his knee up to lock it in place as the unbalanced Storm Sworn tried to pull it back. Leod raised his sword but to his left a smoke-light fired. Hot lead punctured his shield and impacted against his chest armor. Gods and Powers praised the deformed bullet didn't pierce his main armor, but it still cracked a rib and almost knocked him from his saddle. Sensing opportunity the halberdier switched to a short sword and lunged forward searching for a weak spot. Deorwine made sure he didn't get very far and blood-guards encircled their king. Leod tried to make an apologetic gesture to Deorwine but the count was looking away. Taking the opportunity to breath and look around Leod assessed the situation. They were still winning.

But the bastards didn't break. The Storm Sworn rear held and refused the budge, turning it into a shoving match. Leod blinked before starting to laugh uncontrollably. Louder and louder until he could be heard over the battle. _Ridicules, utterly ridicules, everything, but most of all him, for laughing his ass off! _

The laughter turned into a sigh. It didn't matter, if they wouldn't break then he would just have to kill them all as they stand. And the best way to do that was to break through the center and defeat the enemy in detail. However he had committed everything, so now he had to fight.

Leod spoke soothing words to brave Onyx while he could. The noble beast had conducted itself admirably and Leod felt proud to ride him. As it turned out the short respite was just what Leod didn't need. Giving him time and opportunity to notice that his throat was raw and painful, his sword was aching and all the suppressed pain from his wounds started to surface.

Leod gritted his teeth, the dead and the victorious can rest.

'Suns and Eagle! Gods and Powers! Loyal warriors of Erep come to your king and know that he is pleased. Not once in sixteen hundred years has a king fought beside such heroes. Fight like Arras. For victory and glory! CHARGE!' Leod gave Onyx the spurs, dirty mud was kicked up by the tiring horse. Those not fighting for their lives followed their king.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Though the music had stopped Tjitse had no desire to go to the cockpit again instead he held on to his makeshift seat as best he could. The transport shook violently before suddenly plummeting before stabilizing.

'Don't worry it's just turbulence knocking.' Wazer called out across the hold.

'Great, can't you ask her to leave?' Dirk called back at her.

'Shut up Dirk.' Ewout said to his fellow plasmagunner.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

The enemy ranks were, finally, thinning. There were only a few islands of resistance left within the maelstrom of flesh and metal. The maelstrom above was also slowly abating, _or is that wishful thinking?_ The nobility fought around him in a semi circle, giving their king some room. Deorwine among them but the way he held his shield arm suggested a pretty severe wound. In fact many of the remaining knights were nursing wounds, though it was hard to tell which blood was theirs and which the enemy's. That is those still around, almost half appeared to have fallen. Leod gave himself a moment to mourn the loss of so many friends and family. As an afterthought he mourned his other subjects as well.

The infantry, the poor filthy rabble, moving up behind them in great numbers were finishing of wounded and isolated Storm Sworn before swarming the islands of resistance. They were rising to the occasion.

'My king, they are starting to break, Suns and Eagle, you did my lord. You did it.'

Deorwine had come upon Leod without him noticing. Was that admiration in the count's voice? Leod followed Deorwine' outstretched sword arm. And indeed, though hard to see amidst the rain, figures were running up a hill, trying to get away from the fighting. Leod smiled.

'Once one starts breaking others are quick to follow. This battle will be over soon. And then, then we can begin reconquering the kingdom. Our people will be free from their malign influence.'

'Yzer, Gods rest his good soul, would be proud of what you accomplished here my king. I doubt anyone could have done this, even him.'

Leod nodded behind the face armor, voice caught with emotion. It meant a lot to hear Deorwine say that. And though Leod's loyal mouth would never admit it his proud heart told him that he had indeed done better than the old duke. He felt much lighter; as if large weight had been lifted from his shoulder.

'You should get your bandaged. It would be a shame to lose you now, when the victory of our age has been achieved. 'Deorwine said with a worried face.

'You don't look so good yourself, especially your shield arm.' Leod replied

'Indeed but I am not the king. You have won my lord. Don't let a stray smoke-light ruin everything at the last second.'

For a moment it seemed as if Leod would argue with his count but he bowed his head instead. 'A king is only as wise as his council.' Leod then turned around to the rear, leaving most of his blood-guard behind.

With his shield resting on his saddle and his sword held high Deorwine ordered to reform around him. Slowly but surely over three dozen knights and twice that number in infantry formed around him, able to pull out of the dwindling He gazed out over the rear of the enemy line and noticed a few more of the enemy breaking from the combat and fleeing uphill.

Deorwine frowned, he was tired, in pain and high on adrenaline, though he was unaware of what that was, but his years of experience screamed that something was wrong, very wrong. Why flee up a muddy hill? Come to think of it why were there only so few breaking? Individuals turning but no gradual yet complete collapse. A sudden lightning flash illuminated the battlefield before illuminating his mind. Through the rain he could distinguish tents containing large cylindrical shapes at the top of the hill, shapes that sparked a memory in his mind, memories that horrified him. The men fleeing uphill weren't fleeing at all; they were messengers.

Not even waiting for a good formation to form Deorwine led the final push. Unfortunately their mounts were too tired. Fortunately the infantry were less tired and manage to shape itself into something of a formation. Unfortunately this was also the moment the Storm Sworn artillery, their powder and weapons kept dry inside the tents, decided to open fire, at almost point blank range.

With utter terror Deorwine heard the great roar of the muzzles, the flash of light that birthed fire, smoke, thunder and death into the melee, uncaring of who they hit. As it came for him he could make out every detail. Every irregularity in the stone cannonball as it plowed through mud and men. Taking people apart and casually throwing the pieces around. Bouncing on the ground the ball fragmented. A large piece missing him by centimeters, he didn't dare look behind him for fear of what he'd see. But he could see it, it happened all around him.

After the bombardment stopped and the Storm Sworn were reloading Deorwine managed to get up onto unsteady feet. The wounded screamed or were silent in shock, some cried for their mothers and tried to retreat. He felt numb as his sword cut through a coward's before kicking him into the mud. With his sword Deorwine pointed at the hill top. 'Kill them or die!' A dozen managed to get to their feet and follow him. Victory was so close and now the Storm pulled something like this? Fuck no. Staggering up the slope everyone knew it was race, they were all committed nothing safe death would prevent them from getting up there and killing them. A hundred or so smoke-lights fired in a volley from beneath the tents. The flashes from their weapons followed quickly by lightning.

A bullet graced Deorwine's helmet, sending his head spinning. The second pierced his shield, further shattering his arm and piercing his gut. A death sentence, one of the slow and painful type. Half crying with pain and despair Deorwine pushed himself up the hill. He had no idea if anyone was following, he didn't, couldn't, care. Every time lightning flashed he could make out the Storm Sworm reloading their infernal weapons, the image burned itself into his mind until it was erased by the next flash. The next flash. He slipped and fell face down. Coughing up the foul mud he tried to get up again.

Eomund cursed vehemently. Things were going beyond all hope and then the Storm Gods themselves seem to have intervened. Corrupt Stormcraft wreaked utter havoc. Many Storm Sworn had been hit alongside the loyalists. Victory had seemed so distant, then so close, now so distant again, it was so cruel Eomund could cry. Leod was wounded but safe. He had no idea in how bad a shape Udarans was after trying to follow Deorwine up that hill. Deorwine…

Eomund defiantly turned to face the hilltop. Gods and Powers! They could still win. They would win. Intensely relieved he saw what could only be Deorwine rise from the mud until he fell on his knees, almost as if in prayer, almost. Then a flash of bright red streaked down from the hill, hitting him squarely in the face, turning it into red mist.

In retaliation an indescribable mass of fire and metal and light descended from the Heaven's screeching the otherworldly battle cry of a Power. For a millisecond Eomund saw the image of a two headed eagle as clear as day between two orbs of fiery light caressing the hilltop. An explosion blossomed upwards, wreathing the…the… direct intervention of Gods and Powers on Erep against the Storm in fire as it soared away.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_In this universe survival is justly hailed as a Victory. _

Unknown. 

No.

Tjitse refused it, rejected it, denied it! But reality was starting to catch up and he was forced to concede defeat. They might just be crashing…_Great._

The craft had been thrown around, gently at first but as they descended deeper into the storm it became more and more violent, uncomfortable, but not unexpected. Startled Mar reacted by instinct singing the _Litany of Protection_, many following his example. Wazer looked mildly discomforted, nothing more. _Show off._ Pyt looked ready to puke.

'Don't you dare Pyt. That's an order you hear me!? An order!'

The Emperor, or at least Pyt, seemed to have heard Tjitse as his adjutant aimed away from him, to an unsuspecting Lieve.

Dakovic cried something unintelligible over the vox. A second later the roar from engine increased, the machine-spirit summoning all its strength to save them from a futile death.

A sudden increase in g-forces, though few onboard knew the term, caused by a violent change in pitch launched ill-secured objects across the cramped, but Dakovic managed to stabilize it. Everybody felt a surge of relief flood through them.

The stubborn craft slowly started to climb, too slow. A sudden loud noise and a violent shudder shock them to their bone. The stubborn machine-spirit refused to yield, determined to remain functional and it kept going. Then the transport yawed and rolled suddenly, but Dakovic seemed able to rein it in.

Unexpectedly they made a gut wrenching drop. Tjitse's heart had just enough time to skip a beat.

It felt as if his bones were being torn from his body. The sound of buckling metal filled the cargo hold.

Colors, shapes, movement, possibilities shot through Tjitse. There and gone, too fast to comprehend. Then light and darkness. Then darkness and pain. Then color and pain. Then pain and … _Great_.

Moaning painfully Tjitse slowly became more and more aware of himself. No vital damage, apparently, but still plenty of damage, he'd only been out for a few seconds it seemed. Slowly sharpening senses made him more aware of his surroundings. Some of the red emergency lighting had been damaged in the crash. To most of the Saints the world was a jumble of disarticulated movement silhouetted by faint red. A sick smell of fear, and accompanying fluids almost made him gag. His gloved hands struggled with the straps as he ordered everyone to report their status. Once free he half walking, half crawling over scattered equipment and dazed soldiers, he managed to reach the rear hatch. Tjitse prayed to the Emperor Omnissiah, the transport's machine-spirit had held together thus far but an emergency bolt release was always risky, so Tjitse took cover behind a half splintered box.

'Ripping the bolts in three, two, one!'

The mechanism performed its function admirably as it blew open. A rush of moist hot air greeted him. It had a sweet flowery scent to it that was heavenly. Beyond the transport's ramp a slight drizzle came down from the cloudy sky. A seventy meter long path had been carved through a muddy field. A few smoldering patches of grass were going out in the rain. Further ahead there was a decapitated tree line. Further away in the distance the rain fell in torrents from a lightning wrecked storm.

Tjitse around to the cargo hold. Some people cried for help. Most though were simply dazed and managed to report to Pyt. Ewout sprouted a twisted, possibly broken ankle. Koen the resident 'mo', or medical officer, was hanging limp in his harness, blood trickling down from between blonde curls. Mar had freed himself and was helping his elderly mentor. Sybrand helped Lieve out of his harness while Thim and Klaas checked on _Nova_. Wazer was moving as though she was unsteady on her feet and had to grab on to things as she made her way to the pilot hatch.

'Thim!' The loud grunt was all the confirmation Tjitse needed. 'Get the _Nova_ unhooked and roll out, Klaas help him. Mar, continue with Piers. Dirk, Ed, help Ewout. Rest of you Saints get out!'

Tjitse helped Koen as he was closest. The mo still showed no signs of consciousness, but he was still alive. Pyt showed up at Tjitse's side and helped to unstrap Koen, whilst giving him a brief rundown. Except for Ewout and Koen everyone was mostly fine, Piers was just shaken. Serfin was a blank but showed no obvious signs of injury, _and because everyone is afraid of him nobody checked_ was what Pyt didn't say.

'Have the clergy confirm the Astropath's health if Koen doesn't… Now help me get him out.' Tjitse knew that the Mo might have a broken neck but they couldn't leave him hanging. After Thim rolled the _Nova_ out they carried Koen out as gentle as possible, keeping his neck as stable as possible. At a safe distance they laid him down on the wet grass, about forty meters away from wreck and with the _Nova_ acting as a shield. Tjitse carefully examined Koen's injuries more thoroughly, except for the man himself Tjitse had the best medicae training around. Luckily the injuries didn't seem severe, but Koen was still unconscious and there was no telling how bad the concussion would be until he woke up.

There wasn't much he could do now so Tjitse turned his attention to the rest of his Saints. Several of the troopers were tending to each other's injuries, murmuring the _Prayer against Pain_. Some were just too dizzy or dazed to do anything other then sit down and clutch their Aquila's or adamantium balls. Serfin seemed distraught by the events as far as Tjitse could tell. The Astropath kept shifting his weight from one leg to another, or maybe he suffered from a leg injury.

Tjitse ordered half of the fit men to set up a perimeter and the other half to take the unfit under their wing and commence unloading and categorizing their remaining supplies from the chimera.

To find Wazer and coordinate with her Tjitse approached tall Thim and squat Klaas. He assumed she would have gone with them after checking up on Dakovic. But before Thim had answered Tjitse knew that she was still inside the transport. The two crewmen immediately offered to risk life and limb in order to save her from the wreck. Tjitse politely held off on the courageous offers and tapped his micro-bead.

'Dame Wazer. Come in and report.'

Static.

'Sub-lieutenant report.'

Again static.

'I repeat come in Wazer. Do you copy sub-lieutenant!?'

Static hissed in his ears. If crashing wasn't bad enough he might just have lost his Naval. Tjitse was about to send Thim and Klaas in to get the sub-lieutenant but to his relieve the micro-bead came to life with Wazer's voice.

'I hear you captain Velden. I apologize for the delay. I'm glad to say that the engines are disabled and there appears to be no promethium leak. There should be little danger of the machine-spirit killing us in its death-throes. The good news ends there. Dakovic, our pilot, is in bad shape and urgent medicae assistance is required. Over.' Tjitse could hear the strained emotion over the vox. It must be bad.

'Understood.' He then turned to Pyt who had off course followed the conversation.

'Wazer says the machine-spirit is sedated is safe but I want you to wrap things up here before sending in a recovery team for the supplies, just in case.'

'Yes captain.'

'The Guard will provide what assistance it can for the Navy.'

'Yes captain, I'm sure they'll appreciate it.' They both managed to crack a smile.

Tjitse grabbed a bag of medicae equipment and ran. Tjitse's hand reassuringly touched the Aquila around his neck, and the potent machine-spirit it housed. If Wazer was wrong the refractor field was the only chance he had.

All to soon Tjitse reached the severely wounded metal beast. Though metal did not heal it was far more resistant to damage than flesh. With proper rites and ceremonies it may fly again. For a moment Tjitse philosophically mused on the implied differences and commonalities between Man and Machine hidden within the subtleties of language, then he mentally smacked himself on the back of the head. _Focus._

Wazer would have entered the cockpit's remains via the cargo hatch, but that would be too cramped now. He needed to get in via the cockpit's canopy. Mentally he rehearsed the potential afflictions as he moved to the front of the crash site. A huge, probably centuries old tree had been uprooted and pushed over when the transport finally came to a halt against a low earth wall. The tree had been partially uprooted and the low wall was demolished but together they seemed to have taken most of the brunt.

As Tjitse approached the front he could see where the rest had gone. The sturdy cockpit had behaved like it had been designed to do many millennia ago, absorb the kinetic energy but it hadn't been quite enough. Reinforced armaglass had shattered. Some of it had fallen down and Tjitse was careful not to cut himself as he climbed up the nose. Inside the cockpit the shards of armaglass became razor sharp projectiles. Though the pilot appeared to have been lucky. Dakovic suffered several large lacerations. _Could have been a lot worse._ Wazer had used some bandage to try and stop the bleeding. It was the head injury Dakovic suffered from that worried Tjitse. The pilot's head had impacted on the control panel and blood was trickling out from under his broken helmet. A bloodied Wazer looked up from her position in the cockpit. Dark eyes distraught though she managed to contain it. She seemed both intensely relieved and surprised to see him.

'Captain Velden? Where is your medic? Dakovic needs real help.' She pointed at Dakovic, a slight tremble in her voice. Tjitse's reply was calm and controlled.

'Unconscious. He might have woken up by now with a minor concussion if we're lucky. Now focus please. Has he been conscious? What's his blood pressure? Did you give him any painkillers? Or stimms? Anything broken? Did you move him?'

Wazer blinked. She wasn't used to this. This wasn't how things went. Space combat was so much cleaner, nothing this close, nothing this visceral, nothing this bloody. Blood all over her clothes. Adrenaline in her system. She really wanted to unload her rack and zap the bat sizzling. Her unused implants fired in sympathy.

'Sub-lieutenant.'

'Uh, no, no consciousness since he lost it, I, I just bound his wounds. I thought that would be enough.' Her tone was apologetic, almost pleading, tears started to well up. Tjitse, who had been reaching in his bag looked up at Wazer falling apart. _Great_.

'Was he coherent dame Wazer?' Tjitse pried open Dakovic's eyes, checking both pupils reaction with a small flashlight. One good, one bad. _Great._

'Yes, for a few seconds. He mumbled something incoherent. I couldn't really make it out. A smiling storm, maybe something with war or gore, he definitely called upon the Emperor'

'What about his blood pressure Wazer?' Tjitse, didn't look up as he began checking the bandages Wazer had placed over the wounds, and unfortunately also the clothing, well that would be a problem for later.

'Sub-lieutenant?'

'I…I didn't remember to do it, I'm sorry.' Her voice started to break; she was shaking and becoming pale.

Tjitse nodded, distracted, Dakovic was still bleeding and he knew he had to act fast or he would bleed out. Problem was that Dakovic was bleeding pretty much everywhere, was stuck, possibly lodged, in a cramped and severely damaged cockpit having Throne only knows how many or what type of internal injuries and then there was a nasty head wound to finish it all off. Tjitse was a realist and he knew that Dakovic's chances were slim even if he didn't die in the next minute.

'Wazer, focus, any significant bleeding on your end?'

'Uhm he's…' She gestured at his thigh. 'More there than, than…' She sounded distant.

'Is the blood bright red or dark red?'

'…Bright, I think.' Tjitse gave her the flashlight. 'Let the Emperor do the thinking for you.' Taking a deep shuddering breath Wazer took the flashlight and looked again.

'Bright red.'

Internally Tjitse cursed. The femoral artery. Wazer's quick bandaging was the only reason he was still alive. If the Emperor would continue his protection for just a bit longer Dakovic might just have a chance. Tjitse however was not as fanatical or orthodox as his brethren, in fact privately he considered himself to be half a heretic for thinking the Ecclesiarchy was more full of it than the rest.

'If the Navy has anything appropriate… Now would be the time. Meanwhile apply as much pressure there as possible.' Wazer blinked and closed her eyes as she pressed down. There was a particular prayer; but for the life of her she couldn't remember it. So she recited the general prayer, vaguely aware of the warm wetness on her hands. Tjitse attached a simple fluid drip with Wazer muttering incoherently in the background.

'I'm coming around. Keep applying pressure all right?'

Wazer still had her eyes closed as she nodded. Tjitse quickly dropped down, contacting Pyt as soon as he hit the ground.

'Pyt how is Koen doing?'

'He just woke up but he's very dizzy and doesn't know what happened. Apparently he has a minor concussion, his diagnosis not mine. He's in a good mood though almost sunny but I'd keep him away from a scalpel.'

'Prognosis? Never mind. The pilot is severely injured, unconscious, head injury, multiple lacerations and a cut femoral artery. Send in a stretcher team and the third best medic we have. And someone for the last rites.' He added as an afterthought.

'Yes sir.'

When he took his hand of the micro-bead Tjitse had reached the hatch. Tjitse knew it was a risk for Dakovic. Moving him could kill him. Then again not moving him could kill him. Choices like that were pure, clear, almost binary. One of professor Mattematicus' last words before he died, before Tjitse killed him. Tapping Wazer on the shoulder they quickly switched places. Tjitse quickly made a tourniquet to cut off blood flow. Necrosis would be a luxury problem. Tourniquet in place Tjitse proceeded to rebind the wound.

'One of the clergy is coming and our Mo, medical officer, is non-functionally conscious.'

'Oke, I…I will wait for them, and make some room here.' She sounded nervous but relieved.

Grunting a reply Tjitse grabbed a unit of causticterizer and applied it directly to the wound. The chemicals burning it shut. Separating the clothing, bandage and wounds while he had the chance Tjitse concluded that Dakovic might just pull through, and the Navy would really appreciate his help he hoped. He'd done everything he could so Tjitse turned his attention to the cockpit's datagate.

Pulling back his left sleeve a datacord snaked from Tjitse's wrist, its head the color of his skin, and entered the datagate. Fuzzy, lukewarm data flowed up his arm and into Tjitse's brain and the small logic-engine it contained. The shape and being and injuries of the machine-spirit pronounced itself in a twitchy manner. It took longer then expected with a few dead ends but within the data structures he found the information. Data on what the frak had happened. After reviewing it Tjitse raised his eyebrows in surprise. _Great._ A gentle tug on his leg pulled his mind back, datacord slithering back into his wrist. Mar and a stretcher team of Hein and Red, holding a neck brace, waited in the cargo hold.

'I think intercession by saint Mariken may have ensured our survival.' Mar said out of the blue. Wazer cringed.

Wazer had taken a seat on a crate in the cargo hold, lho-stick between pale lips. Her dark eyes rested upon Tjitse and the stretcher team but they were distant and dull. Her hand shook as she ran her fingers through her hair, the Emperor only knew where her hat was. Slowly she took a deep breath of smoke. This was not what she expected, not even close, not by a lightyear. Tjitse sized her up again. Naval combat was clean, clinical and distant, unless boarding. If the armor and shields held against the enemy pounding few would suffer, and if they failed death would be instant. It made her dash for the pilot and the first aid even more impressive. Tjitse put his hand on her shoulder, when she recognized him he motioned for her to follow him. On auto-pilot she followed him.

'The vox caster has been too damaged to work properly and ours are too weak to reach orbit to call for a medevac.' He turned and gave a small smile. 'However that won't be a problem, thanks to our new Astropath, a fortuitous last minute addition. Discounting any weird warp events communications with the _Steadfast_ are stable. However there is something more important.'

Inside the cockpit Tjitse produced a dataslate in his left hand and connected it via a cord to the datagate before holding it up for Wazer. A second later she reviewed the flickering pict and vox recordings stored in the machine-spirit's memory. Tjitse studied Wazer's face when they reached the interesting part. Surprised shock. _Good_. If her mind was too numb with other things, she wouldn't stop to wonder how he had acquired the data. More importantly social protocol dictated that she now owed him for bringing it up. But a real prize was now within reach Tjitse realized. He chose his words carefully.

'Downed by savages with stone cannonballs. I'm not too familiar with Naval history but I'd say that's unprecedented, for Tempestus at least. It would make the _Steadfast _the laughing stock of the entire segmentum.'

Wazer looked at the ruined and bloody pilot seat with a pained expression.

'Unless off course Dakovic was brought down by severe weather. Or perhaps something else. I don't know, you're the Naval officer I expect you to know how to come up with a plausible alternative. Whatever it is you come up with, I will support that version of the events. As for the memory of the machine-spirit, I think it was damaged during the crash, wouldn't you?'

She looked up at him, her reply throaty from emotion.

'Why would a muddweller like you do such a thing?'

Tjitse ignored the slur and told her the best possible lie, the truth.

'For every battlehonor a thousand die unmourned and unremembered, but to be remembered for this. It will benefit no one, least of all the morale of the Emperor's Navy.' Wazer made her decision, swallowed and then nodded at him. _And now you owe me big._

'Instead of destroying it I can tamper with the machine-spirits memory, Emperor Omnissiah forgive me, but you'll have to give me some codes. They won't believe us otherwise.' She hesitated for a second and looked straight into his eyes. 'Thank you captain Velden.' She offered a shaky smile as she grabbed the dataslate and added her codes. Tjitse returned the smile as he took the dataslate and inloaded the codes.

'Not a problem, we're all human so let's stick up for each other. Navy Guard rivalry be damned. You can call me Tjitse by the way.' _ Naval codes. I have Naval codes. Great!_


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter six**

_Mankind stands on the corpses of the Martyred_

Unknown.

Tjitse and Wazer walked to the main group but stopped and gazed at the beautiful scene enfolding before them. Two afternoon suns appeared from behind dark clouds. Their golden brilliance shone through a silver curtain of rain. A rare double rainbow formed and enshrined the sight in its myriad colors. A rain cooled breeze caused exotic petals to whirl and dance in the sweet, sultry air, as if summer itself had come to celebrate itself. Tjitse blinked, shook his head and tapped an emotional Wazer's wrist to pull her out of her enchantment. She jumped at the touch, trying to hide her tears from Tjitse but the captain had already moved on. He was anxious to get moving, the crash had damaged his ideal time table, as it was he would lose at least one transport cycle. And that was one cycle he couldn't miss if he wanted to win the cup from Veer. It had been luck, or the Emperor's will as Veer had put it, that she managed to snatch the cup from his hands on Sherxis.

Tjitse walked to Pyt for information on situation.

'Thank the Emperor, our company banner is undamaged and Ewout's sprained ankle should be fine in days. According to Koen his own prognosis was also good, the worst was already clearing he said. I wouldn't trust him yet, he's acting…very cheery. Good news our pilot is stable, though his brain might have been filed by the Emperor.' For a moment Tjitse considered the pilots ruined form. He hoped Dakovic would live. The Navy undoubtedly had medals for saving the life of a pilot. Literal as the Imperium is the pilots mind would be irrelevant for the medal.

'If you haven't contacted orbit yet bring me the Astropath. We need to reestablish communication with the colonel. We're not real Saints yet.' The adjutant nodded solemnly.

Serfin was brought to the _Nova Ignis_ and Pyt escorted him, carrying a vox and pict recorder, ready to grab his weapons. Tjitse looked downwards at himself; he had departed in a pristine formal uniform in anticipation of the propaganda recording of the first Imperials on Under Debate. But now his epaulets had torn off and he was covered in filth. Tjitse smiled as Pyt approached, carrying not only his recorders but also a field uniform. As he started changing Wazer's eyes widened, blushing she quickly left, mumbling something about 'filthy mud'. Pyt hid his smile, amused by the naval officer's inexplicable discomfort. Tjitse hadn't been paying attention.

Gently he tucked his medals away; they were the material manifestations of his accomplishments. Eagerly earned on Sherxis and paid in blood on bittersweet Novter. The Crimson Skull, Adamantium Suppressor and Hero of Sherxis from the former. The Silver Swan of Novter, Iron Aquila and the Emperor's Mercy from the latter. Running a hand over the engravings on his cane he paid extra attention to the crystal skull for any cracks. For a moment he stared into the empty eye sockets before smiling the smile of the victor. He was quiet for a moment before putting on the carapace armor that his rank allowed. Tjitse put on the typical Novterian officers helmet with a solemn movement, automagically its visor slit down, providing Tjitse with extra information from the inbuilt auspex. It combined hard functionality with the inspiring sight of an officer's cap. The Novter military had recognized the psychological effect incurred by it its noble form upon the rank and file. They had also recognized the physical effect incurred by a headshot to its wearer. So they had labored to combine the best of both worlds into one form, they had succeed in Tjitse's opinion. With a twitch of his head the visor slit back into the helmet, no need to waste energy.

'Good thinking on the uniform Pyt.'

'Thank you sir. I had a feeling you might want to change when you asked for the equipment.'

'Indeed, indeed. Speaking of which; set up a good site and recording angle for the propaganda shoot. If we can make Dakovic look presentable put him in the frame. If not, then don't. Also put the _Nova _in it, first machine-spirit to successfully land. It's one for the archives of this heathen rock if the commissars and Pontifex like it. This may just become the most famous shoot you'll ever make, so don't forget to sign for it. Good, get started, I want to send it along with the other data. I'll be in the _Nova_ if you need me.' Pyt saluted and proceeded to set up the propaganda shoot.

Tjitse then boarded his command chimera. It would take a minute or two for Pyt to get everything in order. Giving him just enough to do something he wanted to since they 'landed' on Under Debate. Throne! That name… Undeb, it was friendlier on his mind.

Tjitse let out a satisfied grunt and relaxed his tightened muscles as he slumped into his command chair. Imported from Attila it was as comfortable as the price suggested. Easily one of the most rare and coveted piece's of equipment in the 13th.

Lazily Tjitse reached for a blue and silver inlaid box attached to the hull. On the front a circle of seven runes inlaid with semi-precious stones. In its center an Aquila holding a sphere in its claws with a water droplet was depicted. The Velden family crest, simple compared to the established nobility. He was nonetheless as proud of it, if not more so in a twisted way, then the most rusted dynasts were of theirs. But the box was merely one feature of the _Nova Ignis_ which he greatly valued.

As a rule command vehicles tended to have stronger machine-spirits then their 'normal' production kin. These superior vehicles were created under an auspicious serial number on the hallowed assembly lines of Arbet. Many are later customized by their commanders, assuming they survive long enough. Bigger promethium tanks, more sophisticated vox transmitters and auspex's, or just more guns and armor. In general it came down to having an upgrade requisition finally being granted. But not _Nova_, during the Founding Tjitse had enthusiastically started working on it. It had been a great coping mechanism after Xeno raid, to get to know the beautiful machine's spirit so intimately, and vice versa. To put so much of himself into a machine that it became like a child of him. Support from various institutions, the generous backing of his family and with the aid of his few remaining friends Tjitse had built the _Nova Ignis_ from the ground up. Sherxis had been a trial by fire for the both of them, and they had both triumphed. Like any Guard captain Tjitse had taken a look at the obvious like weaponry but ultimately he had concluded successful high commanders win their battles in the rear. Other upgrades were more appropriate. One of them the seemingly useless box.

It was an advanced piece of technology, in execution if not in concept. Flexible enough to meet changing demands. Virtually independent from a logistical point of view. Able to operate and drawn in resources from aquatic, radiological, biological and chemical environments, only the vacuum troubled it. Tjitse deftly pressed one of the seven runes. Clicks and buzzes could be heard inside the machine. Then a small hatch opened, wisps of white vapor slowly flowing out of it. Tjitse reached in and grabbed a frosted armaglass cup carrying his families crest. He gently swirled the cup's contents around and the pleasant sound of ice cubes clinking against the armaglass cup greeted him. Holding the cold armaglass to his sweaty brow before taking a sip of the ice cold water Tjitse let out a long contend sigh. He needed that.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Enjoying a lho-stick, and simply being alive, Hein, Ewout and Dirk were keeping their 'grievously wounded' comrade Ewout company. Bravado and jokes was how they coped. Dirk repeated a joke he had overheard between two acolytes.

'Did you see the sororitas during candlemas?' Hein grinned apologetically at sky as he replied.

'Yeah; smoking!' Ewout chuckled, as much by the lame joke as by Dirk's scowl at having his punch line stolen. Unexpectedly Hein had his lho-stick taken from him. He was about to protest vehemently but then noticed the rank of the culprit. Wazer had her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply. She took the lho-stick from her lips with trembling hands and held her breath. By the time she slowly exhaled Hein had already savlared a replacement from Ewout's pack. Dirk noticed how the water and mud made Wazer's clothes cling to her skin, even making it transparent in places; silently he mouthed 'smoking' at no one in particular much to his own amusement. Ewout rolled his eyes, Dirk was the youngest in an already young regiment, and it showed. Not that anyone of the 13th dogsoldiers were out of their teens yet. But Dirk could act as if the Guard was his first day of Krümper.

Ewout stroked his short beard as he contemplated the flygirl. He sympathized, a lifetime ago, actually four months, he had been in the same place she was now, though a bit more bloody. He held out his canteen of caff enhanced water to Wazer, who gratefully took a swig. As the water touched her tongue she winced but gulped it all down. For a moment she simply stood there but then sat down. A lho-stick in one hand and an ambiguous drink in the other, a long shuddering sigh leaving her lungs before smoke entered it in turn. In the distance Wazer heard a dry _crack_, in the second it took to register she was already at her feet. Lho-stick and canteen falling to the ground as she struggled to find her laspistol. Three surprised faces looked up at her.

'I heard a shot?' Wazer cursed at herself, that wasn't supposed to come out as a question. She started to feel like a fool. One of them, Dick?, smirked at her whilst the heavy, squat one of the trio shook his head before addressing her.

'There is nothing to be worried about dame, this is a feudal world. What's the worst that could happen? It's probably Lieve with-' A triumphant 'DINNER' erupted from the woodland much to the joy of the Saints. Father Piers started singing a hunting song which was quickly followed by the rest. Wazer awkwardly put her laspistol away.

'Your, uhm, kinda smoking.' Wazer blinked at the muddweller with the ankle, she had dropped her lho-stick… Who in the Throne's name did this muddy-

'Rust!' Wazer cried out as she tried to stamp the fire out. A quick intervention by Hein with, Dirk's, canteen helped her out. With feet sloshing in her shoes Wazer couldn't help but think that things couldn't possibly get any worse.

* * *

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(-+-)

Eldritch words which sang of borrowed power solemnly reverberated behind virgin territory. Rising like the wind of a coming Storm, whispers of the crescendo to come. It echoed of glory and power and incandescent will; a lie, a promise.

In between the trees a six legged, faintly deer like creature was the only audience. Instinct compelled it to conceal itself, for it to reveal its dagger teeth in a threat display against anything that saw it, for its venomous tongues to coil itself, for its large brown eyes to search for the source of the otherworldly noise that frightened it so. Its nostrils flared, the smell of mate mixed with blood, but no feast-urine… The alien sounds increased. Too much. It bolted away in primitive but justified fear, for the rising alien sounds were all too human.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

The Saints sang psalms to ease their nerves and praise the Emperor, Spirit of Man, ascended and enthroned upon Terra. Carefully selected by the solemn Piers from a series written by Saint Mariken for the ad hoc ceremony.

Tjitse spoke the words but barely listened to it, just enough to pick up a phrase or two in case he was questioned later. From the corner of his eyes he checked out Wazer. Mentally she had recovered, or at least had the energy to pull up a good façade. The state of her uniform was a problem that was solved by carefully positioning corporal Sybrand. Piers was apparently finished as with a dull _thump_ Mar closed the thirteenth _Hagiography of Tempestus_ and stood up to help his aged master. Grumpily the preacher rebuked the young man, a faint smile crept on Tjitse's lips. From his left Pyt walked forward to position his pict-recorder and instruct its machine-spirit before rushing back to take his place next to Tjitse. A beam of sunlight pierced the clouds and illuminated the small group in golden light, much to Tjitse's delight and amusement. He smiled wholeheartedly just as the pict-recorder flashed. Capturing them when their attempt to look their most pious was at their most believable. A lie, a promise.

Various cables tagged with fresh purity seals ran from the base of the Astropath's shriveled skull and merged with those coming from his vertebrae into a small cable that ended in a white dataslate. The captain, his adjutant, Wazer, father Piers, and by extension Mar, were grouped around the idiot psyker, much to the disciple's discomfort. While he understood the necessity and place of the psyker within the Imperium, they still inked him out. Blushing involuntarily Mar concluded that Novter soldier's terminology, another such word, was rubbing off on him. He just wasn't sure if that was a good thing but, Emperor praised, father Piers would know.

Tjitse had grabbed the dataslate and acquainted himself with the strange machine-spirit. In a few minutes he had inloaded the data and pressed the correct runes. Immediately after the captain pressed the last symbol the eyeless freak shuddered and twitched. The Astropath's lips and eyelids struggled against the brass wire keeping them shut. Disgusted Mar saw flesh beginning to tear but then, mercifully the psyker stopped abruptly and returned to its normal passive state. It was disturbing to see, certainly, but Mar's build up mental image of the horrors of psykcraft deflated considerably. Really…he'd been afraid of that? It was nothing a servant of the Emperor had to fear. Nothing at all. A tug on his sleeve caught Mar's attention, his eyes widened in shock as he looked at his aging master. Father Piers was panting and sweating profusely. Mar was caught by the sudden mortality of his mentor as he wiped the sweat from the old man's brow. Slowly Piers managed to regain his breath.

'Thank you adept. It is truly harsh to suffer the presence of the psyker, especially for one as old as me. If the captain will excuse me- Tjitse nodded and Piers made an Aquila in reply-I shall attend to the pilot. My disciple will stay.' Mar was about to speak but a reply arrived through the warp. He quickly rushed to support his master again.

Tjitse smiled as he read the reply. Deftly his hands moved over the dataslate pressing the necessary runes to send his message screaming across the void. Piers had barely recovered and was moving again. Mar glared at the captain before remembering his place in the hierarchy. Not that he or the other officers had noticed, they were viewing the dataslate in turn. Silently he took his position in the group as Piers shuffled away. When after a few minutes he had collected the courage to ask for it a reply slithered down Serf's spine and into the dataslate. The officer's looked over Tjitse's shoulder with Mar struggling to steal an upside down glance.

'Get the _Nova _ ready for a recon mission Pyt. We need to find a geographical landmark to meet up with the rest of the company. You stay here Pyt and safeguard the wounded and the wreck. Naval rescue forces have been notified.' Pyt then began barking those orders to everyone. None of them applied to Mar, and so he dutifully waited while contemplating the Emperor's morality manifested in the State.

_A good soldier obeys without question. A good officer commands without doubt. _It was an Imperial Guard maxim he had learned during his education. In preparation for his vocation with the Guard it was deemed necessary that he acquaint himself with the Tactica Imperium. As such a request had issued forth from the great Cathedral of Bazin Prime when he was eight. When he was fifteen a reply had arrived. The next day he made pilgrimage via the human rivers running through the hive's vast gorges of crumbling rockcrete. After four days he embarked upon a fascinating snakelike machine on tracks in between the cloudy peaks. When after hours travel he got his first view of the His Holy Cleansing academy his heart had skipped a beat. An unpretentious adamantium mountain of power through firepower. A true symbol and bastion of the Imperial Guard revealed itself to him that day. Its raw majesty accentuated by the many weapon emplacements masquerading as devotional statues, crowned with a gleaming sphere carved into the likeness of Cadia, obscuring its ability to cut a frigate in half. A flock of winged machines, a wing of Valkyries as he now knew, had flown overhead mere meters away. He had enthusiastically waved at the sponson gunners, one even waved back. When he turned his attention back at the academy his heart skipped another beat. To its left, out in the distance, partially obscured by nearby refineries emerged another bastion. Looking to his right and he could just make out the contours of another one. Out from both their backs a massive wall grew until they were hidden from sight. As the snake ran toward a platform sticking out of the academy Mar just knew that a wall erupted out of the academy and that those wall joined together in the mists at the base of the main fortification and that kilometers high at the top, eternally obscured by impenetrable clouds was a shape carved into the likeness of what could only be Terra, its majesty to high up to fully perceive. Slowly he began to cry until his sobs filled the metal snake's cabin, much to the discomfort of his fellow passengers, and continued to do so until brought before the deputy assistant secretary of the educator-spiritualis minoris for his lessons. At the time he had considered it quite an adventure; never before had he left the comforting confines of his home, the main cathedral.

Mar mentally chastised the idleness within, he had let his mind wander, that he had no immediate orders didn't mean he didn't have any greater orders! He began to sing a hymn praising the many Unknown Saints of the Imperium. Feeling a tap on his shoulder Mar turned around and was face to face with father Piers and captain Tjitse. Terribly embarrassed for being blind to his approach Mar quickly bowed and made the Aquila.

'My son. I will stay here and administer to the wellbeing of the pilot's soul. You will move out with captain Tjitse in the _Nova Ignis_ to what is believed to be a heathen battlefield. We must teach to them the blessings of the Imperial Creed. To respect the divine human form through hygiene, to introduce them to the Pax Imperia, to summon the machine-spirits, to purge them of unholy knowledge, to press them into divine servitude, to kill the alien, to burn the heretic and to purge the unclean. Induce them into the highest creation of morality, the Imperium. You will make the first steps to end Man's savagery towards Man here. Grab the _Book of Illumination_ before you go, these people know no Gothic, low or high. You will be the first to preach before these heathens for neither Heerman nor Marije made any contact yet.' There was a moment of silence as Mar took in the monumentality of what he just heard.

'Me!?' Came the high-pitched reply.

'Yes you.' Father Piers replied serenely. Mar gulped but found the strength to accept his lot.

'Y-yes father.'

'Now go.' Mar made the sign of the Aquila before he scurried of to search for the _Book of Illumination_. As a missionary tool it would have been able to survive a crash and the _Nova's_ threads. Tjitse and Piers watched his back as he moved off.

'About the main briefing…'

'I already discussed it with him.'

'Good. Good pick with the music by the way. But I hardly expected different from the coach of the regimental choir'

'Thank you, but I had help.'

'Oh?'

Piers merely smiled and grabbed the Aquila dangling around his neck.

'Yes of course. The Emperor protects.'

'Only the faithful captain, only the faithful. Have a good ride.'

Entering the command chimera Mar saw that the transport compartment was only half full. The wounded and some guards staying behind. Surprisingly the Naval officer had decided to come along instead of stay behind. With his Saints safe Tjitse sat perfectly comfortable in his command chair. The rest enjoyed their extra leg room. And beverages. The rumor was actually true. Mar wanted to close the ramp but he didn't know which runes to press to command the machine-spirit, he smiled apologetically as Red did it for him. Silently taking a seat he looked longingly at the trooper's drink. Red didn't notice as he was making vulgar jokes to Dirk and Hein and so didn't notice or else chose to ignore him.

Tjitse raised his cup solemnly.

'To the Imperium and the Immortal God-Emperor who rightfully rules.' All who could raised their drinks and drank. Sitting down Tjitse keyed a rune and Thim accelerated the _Nova _away as if daemons were behind it. The maniac driver had quickly taught regular passengers to brace. Mar considered it a small blessing that it was ice water that Wazer spilled in his face. After the laughing had died down Tjitse continued.

'We're shorthanded at the moment so Hein will be taking over Ewout's plasma gun.' The young squat man nodded, grim but proud before he looked at Dirk. The 13th Novter possessed a pyromaniac mindset greater than that of the 'average' Imperial. The barely contained power of a star would do.

'Hein will be taking over from Pyt as my adjutant for the time being.' A tall man next to Mar nodded his understanding.

'Mar's duties will also encompass medicae related issues.'

'Rest assured my fellow warriors, I am dedicated to the nobility of caritas corpus.'

'Yes, of course. Dirk…' Tjitse looked at the second plasma gunner, '…Sybrand…' the grizzled corporal padded his voxcaster '…Red…' the red haired trooper, '…know your roles. Now, the situation is as following. We have learned from the pilot-partially true at least-that natives were active at our landing site. These natives are unknowing heathens, not venomous heretics. Intel we can gain from them could expedite the further subjugation of Undeb. And thus get that cup from Veer.' There was a general sound of assent. Mar wanted to interrupt and remind the captain of his duty to the souls of Undeb's inhabitants. His mouth was open before he remembered what father Piers said.

'It shouldn't be hard to just awe them into submission. And if their hostile we kill them. We're not leaving our wounded to the mercy of primitive heathens.'

Tjitse had wanted to continue but a particularly bad patch of Undeb's wilderness had given Thim all the excuse he needed. He was the type of driver that could only drive in two possible ways; not at all, or trying to escape an Eldar target lock. After Tjitse regained his balance he continued talking as if nothing happened.

'Once were secure we will link up with the rest of the fifth and commence the planned hopping advance. Understood?' Mar contemplated a question, awkward as that may be, but the general chorus of agreement changed his mind.

Wazer had some questions. It wasn't so much that she was curious, no, it was that she felt she needed to get more control. Asking the muddwellers things and making them answer her would help her regain that control. Even in her head it sounded pathetic but it was all her rusting brain could come up with.

'Seeing as you had your fun on the way down it seems only fair I have my turn now boys.' Wazer blinked and realized how right she actually was. They were boys. Exception being the veteran with the voxcaster.

'Why are you all so young?'

'Hah!' Sybrand barked loudly, grinning widely at his younger squadmates, who felt rather embarrassed. Some actually blushed, including Red.

'Because these young dogs are supposed to last for about twenty years.' Sybrand answered half laughing before continuing. 'Some intelligent one's just might.' Wazer almost giggled at that and continued laughing until they looked at her funny and she thanked the Emperor. She needed that.

'Tell me about your homeworld, this Novter.' Many were about to enthusiastically answer so she could pretend to listen when Tjitse cut in.

'Novter, short for, Nova Terra, though for obvious reasons it couldn't be called that. Named so because of its characteristics; one AU, one G, one atmospheric pressure, one large satellite, one Sol class star, mean temperature of 13°C. Apparently the topography roughly matches that of paleogene Terra. Ysleeth sector, Justinian Marches sub-sector. Unknown date of initial colonization. Classification; civilized. Planetary Governor; Theodore Graeff. Planetary capital; Hanze. Total population; 1.19 billion according to the census of 925. Tithe grade; Solutio Particular. Nearest Astrates chapter; Sky Sentinels. I think that about covers it. Anything you'd get from them would be anecdotal about everyone's unique environment, though im sure their happy to inform you of their childhood.' Internally Tjitse sighed, he shouldn't have done that however much he despised the ten minute 'homeworld' talk. Mostly because he didn't want to be reminded of his defeat. There was a moment of silence before Sybrand spoke.

'You forgot Veen sir.'

Tjitse shook his head. 'Veen isn't Novter. It isn't really inhabited yet. Terraforming is still in progress, much as it has been for almost a millennium by now.' However after the political storm following the xeno raid that made Tjitse's career governor Greaff declared that the first official outposts be established. Its development overseen by the Mechanicum station _Joy of Upgrade_, incidentally also their main temple in the system. 'I'm sure though He gestured at the Saints. The _Nova Ignis_ suddenly jerked to a halt and the vox system cracked into life. It was Thim

'Captain Tjitse? I found some natives for you.' Static. 'Oke, oke, _we_ found some natives.' Thim corrected after Klaas' admonition.

Tjitse didn't move to the front or climbed into the turret to see for himself. Instead he simply turned to several of the slates and logic-engine screens attached to his chair.

Eomund shitted himself in sheer terror.

Fecal matter ran down his legs but at the very least he kept himself from fainting. The only thing that gave solace was the double headed eagle upon the…the…_thing_ in front of him. Could this be a sign from the Heavens? A Power descendant upon Erep? A divine form so alien to a mere mortal such as himself that he could barely stand it?

Suddenly a sound akin to exhaling wind came from the thing. _Someone_ came around the thing. Eomund barely had time to notice the flowing crimson and dirty white robes, the double headed eagle covering almost every bit of him, the strange scabbard attached to its back or the man's boyish appearance before the youth fell on his knee's before Eomund's horse, holding some sort of tome aloft. If it had been possible Eomund's jaw dropped open further as the tome began to glow and show him mindboggling things. _Show._ As if it was a window he was gazing through, a window to divinity.

Tjitse could see the fatigue and minor injuries beneath the layers of bewildered shock. They were from the battle, the winners probably, come looking for the strangeness from the sky.

The other natives had by then regained control over their mounts and turned to stare at the disciple proclaiming the glory of the God-Emperor in High Gothic.

'_A morte perpetua, domine, libra nos_.' Tjitse smirked contemptuously; Mar probably didn't really know what he was saying, having learned by rote. Sure some backwater natives. He was about to order the Saints to disembark when Sybrand received word from Pyt over the vox that the first support crew was about to arrive and that lead elements of the fifth were close by and he could come back. Almost as if on cue he could hear the distant rumble of the support craft. The natives searched the sky in confusion but they were ignored by the Imperials.

Tjitse gave the sign and the rest of the Saints disembarked in disciplined order. Only then did he disembark. Imperial and native may not speak each other's language but humanity possessed alternate ways to communicate. And he had plenty to tell them.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Thim cursed at the slow witted natives and their even slower horses. He'd been chewing up the forest with his best friend _Nova_ but now he was stuck following their huge, slow asses. Once every few seconds one of them would cast a nervous glance backwards. A thought struck him and he keyed the internal vox to his second best friend, the gunner.

'Hey Klaas.'

'Yeah.'

'Are they ridding asses?'

'…Is that a trick question?'

'Oh ha ha. No I mean aren't those animals called asses?'

'No these are horses you city boy. Why?'

'Thought it would be funny.'

'Ah…unfortunately no, they're not asses, the animals at least, I don't know them personally. But they still have asses off course they, oh never mind.' There was a quiet on the vox for a moment before Klaas' voice came again, distinctly more enthusiastic then before.

'Still wouldn't have been as funny as the captain.'

'Oh that was hilarious, first with the arm gestures or when he spoke with the sweetest of voices to Mar.'

'Mar. Shut the up you petitioner! Shouting won't cause the Emperor to miraculously teach them Low Gothic.' They said at the same time, causing them to laugh until Klaas cut in.

'We must be there, I see a shithole.' Thim knew Klaas had a better view in his turret so he already reached for the vox settings when Klaas spoke again.

'And another shithole on a nearby hill. If the corpses are a sign then they don't get along.'

'Understood.' Thim pressed a rune. 'Captain? I think we've arrived.'

Horror, surprise, confusion, disbelief, jubilation and wonder, it simply radiated from the gathered natives. How could it be any other way? Tjitse regarded them cooly through external vid's. Many natives wore colorful clothing, what he presumed to be heraldry displayed upon it. Oddly even the metal of their primitive plate armor was decorated with various patterns and colors, all having various meanings Tjitse felt sure. The only grey he saw was of the bare metal of some weapons being sharpened by a grindstone. Meaningful?

Tjitse had decided to record his musings on the native culture. He could publish a paper on the subject, the first no doubt in the entire planetary archive. Partly that decision came from Tjitse's opportunistic nature, in part due to the real academic potential he saw.

'Disembark and make it look good.' In response Thim revved the engine and hit the horn as the ramp lowered and the Saints disembarked.

For a moment nothing happened as the Guardsmen stood there aloof. After a few moments a group of natives, important one's by the look of it, approached them hesitantly. Coming closer they unfortunately validated Tjitse's assumption about the planet's hygiene standards. Good for them that the Imperium had arrived to impose its moral order.

A wounded noble, supported by a walking stick, a leader of sorts due to the way he behaved, but very young by the looks of it shuffled to the lead rider from the forest. Exchanging a quick greeting the old man began talking excitedly, often pointing at Tjitse, the bloody Wazer or the _Nova Ignis_. Revising the old man's importance from minor to middle Tjitse decided to take control and grabbed their attention by elaborately forming the Aquila and making a short High Gothic greeting. Immediately the natives focused upon him. Motioning at Mar, taking the cue, fell to his knees and held the activated _Book of Illumination_ aloft.

The natives looked in wonder at Mar and the conversion tool showing moving images of the Emperor's glory. However the two men continued their discussion, though in a far more timid matter, occasionally pointing at Tjitse and the _Book of Illumination. _Eventually they appeared to have reached an agreement as they looked Tjitse in the eye. He held their gaze until they, rather unexpectantly fell to their knees, the wounded one presenting a ring. A move a solemn as it was simple. _Great_

All but Mar focused intently at Tjitse, even the Saints. Barely managing to suppress a giant grin Tjitse gave the sign of the Aquila before holding out his right hand. Reverently the wounded youth placed the ring on his middle finger. By now even Mar had noticed what was happening.

Half gambling Tjitse pulled out his combat knife. Made from plasteel on the forge world Arbet a dozen lights year away it's blade was superior to anything their primitive smiths could produce. The native likewise only half gambled about the meaning as he accepted the blade. After a moment the two natives stood up and beckoned Tjitse to follow them.

'Adjutant, Naval attaché , follow me. The rest, stay and guard the _Nova_.' Tjitse walked away with when he realized that Hein was staying behind.

'Temporary adjutant…'

'Sorry sir.' Hein hastened to join his captain.

'Pay attention from now on.'

'Yes sir.'

Walking through the encampment they saw the tell tale signs of a bloody aftermath. Wazer crossed her arms across her stomach as she walked by, trying not to look. Quietly they were led to a large black tent with heavily armed and armored, relatively speaking, and rather surprised guards in front of it. On a nod by the wounded noble one guard pulled aside a tent flap. The smell of burned meat and hair drifted out.

Unexpected; was all Tjitse could think. By all appearances the dead native warrior lying before him on a richly embroided cloth had been stricken by what looked like a las shot to the face. And that shouldn't be.

A message relayed by Sybrand though the microbead almost startled him. The natives certainly jumped at the sound. 'Captain, our company's advance party has linked up with the wounded and are homing in on the _Nova's _signal. They should be here in fifteen.'

'Understood. Tell them I'll need a mo here. It appears one of the natives managed to get shot in the face with a las weapon.' Closing the link he looked at the natives who were equally confused and curious.

'Pistol.' Tjitse held out his hand in anticipation. For a moment nothing happened until he glared at Hein. Surprised the ad hoc adjutant quickly grabbed his sidearm but Wazer presented hers first, much to Hein chagrin.

Empathically he pointed at the pistol and then at the dead natives face before pulling the trigger twice. Two ice blue bolts shot out followed by dry cracks caused by the ionized air. The old native nearly fell backwards while the wounded one simply froze. Weapons drawn the guards outside rushed into the tent unsure of what to do. Tjitse didn't put the gun down, just in case. Between themselves the two nobles began speaking and gesturing excitedly. Making heads nor tails from it Tjitse fired twice more into the ground. Immediately shutting them up and got their terrified attention. Pointing again at his pistol and at the dead native's ruined face Tjitse exaggerated his questioning expression on his face. Carefully approaching the wounded noble pointed at his blood red bandages. A few short words in his native tongue later and the others were also pointing at various red items repeating a single word.

Tjitse's parted his lips, hesitating to believe the implications. It was almost too unlikely to be true, almost.

'Thoughts.'

'Beyond the obvious? A relic from when this backwater was first colonized. A lack of proper maintenance rites for the machine-spirit could have caused the red color. Or maybe there is a miscommunication, these are heathens after all.' Hein sounded unconvinced.

'The warp currents that surround this system might have obfuscated the warp trail, the Veiled region isn't far away and the Yexsec warpstorm is close by as well. It's the reason we hadn't found this system before. Matterium wise the magnetic and gravitational anomalies might obscure a ship, especially between the gas giants. But frankly it would take serious electronic warfare skills to hide a decent sized ship from a bored Dauntless for days on end. Planetside its not much different, probably why you got the Astropath. The same works both ways of course. They might not know were here, if 'they' are really out there to begin with.' Wazer shrugged but still grabbed the Aquila around her neck for good luck. Dying on this mudbal might be preferable to being stuck on it.

Another message arrived via microbead. The mechanized spearhead of the company had arrived and Tjitse ordered them to stay at the edge of the camp. Curious the natives were motioning at his microbead asking him things in their tongue. Having no idea how to answer them he merely waited until a heavily panting messenger arrived Tjitse merely pointed at the rapidly speaking messenger and his microbead as he exited the tent.

The advance party stood proud, ready for an audit. Four combined platoons, roughly four hundred Saints with forty supporting machine-spirits, the steaming forest to their rear. Leeg and his specialized chimera _Maintenance Support VIII._ The natives were in awe, as they should. In the land of the heathen, the faithful is sainted.

Approaching Tjitse saw Serf, Koen, Ewout and Pyt amongst them. Good. Now he could file Hein away as a backup replacement adjutant. A rusting Naval officer did better… Tjitse quickly motioned for Pyt to take his place while the rest of his squad reformed, talking amongst themselves about the natives and any chance of getting lucky. Lieve also wanted to know about the food but was mostly ignored.

'Adjutant.' Tjitse motioned at his aide.

'Sir.' Together they walked towards the approaching lieutenants Julia, Pol, Freterik and Jan and the sentinel sergeants Messen and Dieuwke. They saluted Tjitse as he drew closer.

'All hail.'

'The Saints of His Victory.'

'Good to see the transport took the damage for you sir.' Wazer winced as Freterik spoke.

'Good to hear you take shots at the Navy. Couldn't live without it Freterik.' Tjitse said smiling before giving the middle finger, showing off his new ring. Grinning slightly he explained.

'After crash-landing the natives have declared me their king. I'm not sure. They don't speak Gothic after all.' All four officers and Pyt looked exquisitely shocked at him. 'Jan I want your mo to confirm the cause of death of one of their casualties. I want to be sure it's a las wound before I send the message to orbit. Have the other medicaes help patch up the natives, introduce the wonder of disinfectant and Imperial medicine to these savage natives. Don't use any grade two or above supplies.' Tjitse was in the Departmento Munitorium's cheap officer's ledger and wanted to stay there. Or as it was officially called the Combat Officer(Guard) Efficient Resource Management Differential Balance Ledger, type three naturally.

'As for the rest, I want to hold an inspection. Impress the natives. Understood?' Without really waiting for an answer Tjitse turned to Pyt.

'The rest of the execution?'

'Eefje's adjutant went into anaphylactic shock upon arrival, no one else in the platoon though. Twan's platoon had higher than expected cases pop up but none in the chain of command. The Emperor protects Anke's platoon; zero patients. The other platoons report the expected numbers. They're all on their way to the _Steadfast's _medicae deck off course. As for diseases, well we haven't been here long enough for them to manifest but our medicae's are waiting for when they do. The local wildlife gave Neeltje's platoon a few scratches, nothing bad. In other words the company's deployment went roughly according to plan with almost everything within parameters. As for the rest of the regiment, according to the pilot from the Naval rescue craft they should be on the ground now. The _Ship o'Plenty _has also begun deployment. The front elements of the regimental remnants as well as the 1st Sherxis and 28th Bish are making planetfall around City #1. They're behind schedule though, the storm that hit us moved to the north east and harassed them. Apparently a combined Munitorium and Ministorum delegation landed directly on top the main palace. As for the Navy, the _Ophelia Ranger_ is now assuming a diff…' Noticing that the Saints had put everything into position Tjitse motioned Pyt to be quiet.

'Get the recorder ready Pyt and stand by, its propaganda time.'

The Saints stood in tight formation with their vehicles on both flanks. Leeg and his servitors stood to the right and were viewed by the natives with a mix of wonder horror. Blue banners held aloft in the summer wind by the platoon standard bearers. In the middle Red, looking rather smug, held the red company banner. As an afterthought he motioned at some of the native nobility to take position amongst the serried ranks of the Saints. It was a breach of protocol but the way the natives reacted gave Tjitse a glimpse into their social hierarchy. Meanwhile father Piers used his crosier as a baton to lead the gathered Saints in singing psalms while bombastic music blasted from voxsets. The devices drawing anticipated cries of surprise and wonder from the natives.

Tjitse smiled contently as he held the inspection. The Saints held position and tone almost perfectly. An awfully cheery Koen actually smiled back. Although the transport carrying their captain had crashed; none had died. And the only serious injury was the Navy pilot who had crashed the thing in the first place and nobody really cared about that. Morale was high. News of Tjitse's ad hoc 'coronation' had spread quickly and somehow also the news of a possible heretic infestation. But right now the Saints were putting on a show for the natives, gladly taking the opportunity to grandstand. The natives replied with suitable awe at the disciplined display of Heavenly warriors. After the Saints had finished singing the psalms Tjitse led them in prayer. He finished with a regimental battlecry.

'All hail!'

'The Saints of His Victory!'

After the cry had died down the wounded noble bowed made a clumsy Aquila and approached Tjitse. Shouting something in their native tongue he fell to his knees and raised Tjitse's middle finger for all to see. The man then pointed at himself whilst saying a word(Leh'oht?) and looked questioningly at Tjitse. At first he didn't understand what the native meant but when the man repeated himself again it dawned.

'Tjitse Velden' Proclaimed his name loudly and proudly.

And then the hundreds of native's finally knew the name of the Power that was their new king. Tjitse smiled.

* * *

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(-+-)

Sitting comfortable in a velvet chair provided by the natives Tjitse overlooked the 'Storm' encampment. Apparently the enemy had split up into two armies and Tjitse's new vassals had defeated only one. And now this second army, consisting mostly of plate armored cavalry had shown up. In one hand he held a magnocular, in the other a glass of ice water, ice cubes tinkling against each other as he swirled the glass. The hottest part of the day had passed but it was still warm. Around him stood a semi circle of Imperials and natives. He had offered his new retainers refreshments as well. At first they didn't understand. But soon they were immensely impressed by the ice cubes. Servant girls offered food and very watered down wine with fruit juices. Taking the cool wine and finger food the squad tried to flirt with the girls but, predictably, weren't getting anywhere. Sybrand looked on in amusement, he'd wait for the victory celebrations, when the wine was flowing more freely, more purely and the language barrier became irrelevant. The interns still had much to learn he mused.

Tjitse toyed with Serf's white dataslate, going over the machine-spirits being, feeling pretty sure he knew it well enough. Sending a simple text message via Astropath had been…something. He didn't understood how, or what, he felt as the psyker performed its Warpcraft, and he probably didn't want to know. But it still touched him, moved him. In order to take his mind of it he took a sip of the water. Moving the cold liquid around in his mouth Tjitse savored its clarity. It helped clear his own mind.

Eomund sipped from his glass and smiled, it was unsure of itself but genuine. Heating up water to boiling point wasn't a problem, cooling it down until it froze was completely impossible. Was. Suns and Eagle! A Power sat before them in rule. The king's mind wandered in places he couldn't even begin to imagine. Barely visible the Power's lips moved as he gazed into the eye sockets of his scepter. What words did he speak? What orders did he give? Movement behind the king caught Eomund's attention.

Lord Leod, heavily bandaged and no doubt in pain, was making his way over to the Storm camp on Onyx, carrying a bag of ice. The former king's heraldry held proudly alongside the traditional rainbow banner of an envoy by a pair of blood-guards.

How the tables had turned Eomund contemplated. At dawn crushing defeat seemed inevitable. Now the most treacherous Storm would surrender to their mercy or be utterly crushed by Gods and Powers. Personally Eomund gave Leod small chance of success. But the wisdom of king 'Tjitse's' orders were clear, once they understood what those orders were anyway. For some reason Deorwine didn't understand why the Heavenly king spoke in some strange tongue. Yet using one of those moving picture books he quickly managed to make himself know. Wondrous, divine objects.

And then there were the healers. They had worked miracles with the wounded. Many who seemed to be doomed were pulled back from the abyss of death and were now well on their way to recovery! Eomund was more grateful then he was able to express to his king. He had feared the death of his few remaining kinsmen. Now that fear was gone. Even his young cousin Eord would survive to see the salvation of their land.

Eomund prayed to Tjitse for understanding. If he understood the pictures from the big picture book the youthful giant carried around then Tjitse was a 'saint', some sort of Power chosen by a, no, _the_, Heavenly High King named 'God-Emperor', and was thus worthy of worship himself. Some details no doubt eluded him but he was fairly certain he was essentially correct.

Eomund's gaze wandered and fell upon 'Julia'. A young but tall woman, walking proudly with a regal streak in her eyes and carrying the same weapons as the men and wearing the same randomly patterned green, black and brown clothing with similarly colored armor protecting their chest, arms and upper legs. Which was strange seeing 'Wazer' hadn't arrived in that. The women had perplexed him. There were always a great many women which followed an army, from whores to wives, from healers to servants. Yet these were clearly warriors holding authority within the Heavenly Army. And frankly he hadn't seen anything resembling camp followers. Such discipline, such dedication, such asceticism he marveled silently, unable to communicate with them.

And then there was the woman the king originally arrived with, 'Wazer'. She now wore clean clothing, bright blue and pristine white. It wouldn't have surprised Eomund if she had somehow willed the clothes into existence, like a Power. She was no warrior though, not like the other two, and didn't act like Tjitse's queen. A sister? Or maybe a concubine, or an advisor, a balance to king Tjitse's right hand 'Pyt'. He didn't know so he looked back at the Storm occupying the former royalist camp. They finally seemed to react to Leod's request for parley.

Commotion at the edge of the Storm Sworn camp that set off all sorts of alarm bells in Eomund's head. The noble flowers of the realm, all but dead or scattered before the Storm. And now the last of a noble line; former king Le…former king…but they didn't know that…

The thought had barely formed in his mind or red streaks shot out from the Storm encampment and cut the envoys and their horses into pieces.

'NO!' Eomund screamed in horrified anguish. Tears ran down his cheeks as his two remaining blood-guard restrained him from charging across the field.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter seven**

_Kill the Alien, Burn the Heretic, Purge the Unclean!_

Imperial Commandment

Tjitse was disappointed as he lowered his visor and stood up. He was already replaying the event, trying identify the gunman, whether the enemy was native or offworld. While an important question it was irrelevant in the short-term. The use of violence against an Imperial envoy was unfortunate but not unforeseen. Precautionary orders had been given before the attempt had been made. Tjitse keyed his microbead; it was time to execute option A.

Three hundred Saints had worked like ants after the parade, more as a matter of exercise and not protection. At first the natives had gawked at divine beings doing such menial duties. Some more entrepreneurial Saints took advantage of this by ordering the native commoners to do it for them as they goofed off. The fifth's chimeras were divided into three groups, one on either wing and one in the center with sentinel support focused along the flanks. Pol's platoon held the left flank, Freterik's the right and Julia's platoon the center. Jan's platoon remained in their chimeras; those Guardsmen would be the sledgehammer.

The Saints were by now relaxing, enjoying a summer evening with smoke, drink or joke. Pol's adjutant, Jo, had even ordered some of his boys, the Terra 'brothers', to play their instruments, now they danced around the platoon banner held up by a dancing Skitter. Who could say if they would ever see a summer again? When their souls would travel beyond the Eternity Gate on Terra? Casually they awaited the order to unleash the Imperial version of the Warp upon the natives. The execution on Undeb, the captains shortening had stuck, had a field trip atmosphere.

* * *

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(-+-)

Wil had balanced his lasgun between two rocks at the lip of his natively dug foxhole. His nostrils picked up the earthen smell of the soil. It was a far better smell than the stale recycled air aboard _Steadfast_. A lho-stick was between his lips as he bent over the side to lay a card. He and Joris were playing a game, a small plastic container lay to the side, the price. Nothing fancy, just some candy a bit of artificial vanilla powder to make things interesting. Putting down a card of himself Joris offered his canteen to Wil, who took a large gulp of it. There appeared to be some commotion but before Wil could figure out what it was his microbead came to live.

'All units execute option A. I say again to all combat units execute option A. Let's file these heretics away.' Tjitse's voice came clearly through everyone's microbead.

'We'll finish this latter Joris.' Wil said as in the background Leeg turned the voxsets on.

'Dammed, I was just winning.' Joris said disappointedly as loud music, _Avengers from Ophelia,_ erupted from the voxsets, making normal conversation difficult.

'No you weren't…' He replied before focusing on the killing.

'Blood for the Emperor, souls for His Throne!'

Lieutenant Julia demanded, firing her laspistol at the 'Storm' encampment. Meltagun hanging limply from straps on her back. Not the way the thoroughbred imagined her first time would be Wil considered as he took aim. When he found a target he pulled the trigger. A dry _crack_ erupted from the gun as it caused a sucking chest wound. The heathen looked down before keeling over. Nudging his gun to the right he took aim again and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately he missed his target, some heathen bigshot on a horse. Instead he hit the horse. The beast fell down as one its legs was ripped away in a spray of blood, catapulting forward. Bad shot, Tjitse wanted the animals alive for some reason. The animal was hit twice more before Wil finally hit it at the base of the brain, ending the innocent animals suffering. Unusual feelings of guilt and regret welled up inside him.

Wil took aim for another target. Opening fire at his target he saw that he wasn't the only one. Being hit by no less than six simultaneous lasbolt instantly ignited the heathen's clothing. The rest of the energy went into his tissue, where all the water was flashboiled in less then a millisecond. The resulting gory steam explosion scolded the heathen's comrades. For a moment they stood flabbergasted. Staring in utter disbelieve at what remained of their compatriot they had a second before being cut down in a deluge of shots.

Wil chuckled as he made out the sniggering sounds in between the cracks of the lasguns. Below that he could make out the slowly rising sound of misery coming from the heathens. Ignoring the latter he tried to take aim again when his sight was obscured.

The chimeras stormed ahead, the _Nova Ignis_ amongst them. The low bass tone of their vox-horns adding to the cacophony. A line of armored sentinel walking behind them, a mop up force for anything still alive. Wil shifted his field of fire; he wanted to get a few more shots in before the party ended.

'All hail.' The softly spoken words drowned out by the music blasting from the voxsets.

* * *

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Pyt pressed the runes that would command the machine-spirit to record the ongoing massacre so that it may be reviewed later for any useful information. He informed his captain that it was done before taking place behind the voxcaster. Absentmindedly Tjitse acknowledged him, focused as he was upon the 'battle' going on one that he perceived in large part through the datacord. Using the _Nova Ignis' _powerful auspex and logic-engine he kept track on what was happening.

The plan was straightforward enough and the enemy pathetic enough that it wasn't truly necessary for him to direct the massacre. Instead he focused upon the Saints, judging their performance, acting as an ad hoc commissar now that Alex had so fortuitously been executed. They had their baptism of fire only scant months ago. According to the vets the 13th had fought well; for interns. Unfortunately there are always those who refused to pull the trigger, who were deceived by the thin veneer of humanity on the enemy. Now was the chance to see if the new training regime paid off. Who had learned their lesson and who hadn't. It would be a chance to observe Julia's conduct. An exam. Resulting data would be put to use during the voyage to Hellicus and then Gaenrouw. Tjitse was pushed back in his chair as Thim drove off in his usual manner.

_However beautiful the strategy, occasionally one should look at the result_. As the ancient Terran proverb goes. So Tjitse shifted focus to the 'Storm', any recorded information on the Saints' exuction could be reviewed later. An unrelenting barrage of las beams was inking the entire heathen camp, methodically cutting everything down at a merciless rate. Hundreds were scrambling, fleeing or trying to take cover. None were particularly successful. Some of the more brave, insane or drunk were trying to rally their forces. Target priority was swiftly assigned. Now the heathens were obviously panicking. If the _Nova Ignis _had a bio-chemical auspex he could have smelled it. Not that they would be allowed to flee of course, concentrated fire across the flanks prevented escape in that direction. Flight meant that the mystery lasgunner could escape. And that was simply unacceptable.

Where possible the horses were to remain alive, they could help transport the company across 'Erep' more quickly and take the cup from Veer. It was that same practical mindset that had restricted the Saints' armament to las weaponry. Easy to manufacture, maintain and use, combined with rechargeable cells made Imperial las weaponry an ideal weapon from a logistical point of view.

Thim called out from the driver compartment.

'There.' It was the only warning Thim gave before hitting the brakes in what felt as an emergency stop.

* * *

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(-+-)

Ewout was telling an audacious joke from within the turret of the banewolf _Face Eater_. At least there he might be able to, nominally, contribute to the first battle on Undeb. One for the archives. The sentinel pilot Gerrie laughed out loud across the vox line. Klaas didn't quite hear the last part, he was too enamored with finally being able to drive for once.

'Ewout repeat the last part.'

'So, uhm, so the young sororita bends over to look into the rowboat and says; "don't worry sisters, it's just a girlyman."'

At first Ewout thought something was wrong but then he realized Klaas was laughing his ass off. Ewout grinned, it was a good joke he overheard Wil make a week ago. He blinked at the screen in front of him, grabbed his vox and opened combat channel.

'_Face eater_ has runners at eleven. Approximately one dozen.' The banewolf lurched forward, its searchlight igniting in a baleful glow before Klaas even replied.

'_Face eater_ engaging fleeing heathens. They are dispersing and some will reach the tree's.'

'Manta two on the prowl. Leave those baggers for us, were going to take them hard.' Gerrie boasted.

'Don't forget to use protection.' Ewout replied over a more private channel while chastising himself, he was starting to sound like Dirk.

'Oh, ha ha. That's ju…oh wait, one of them is a woman. Could you leave her for-Ewout felt a small bump in his turret-…never mind, out.'

'Understood, _Face eater_ out.' Grinning manically Klaas drove over another fleeing heathen.

'Ten points if you get the fat one before Gerrie does.' Ewout said.

'You're on.' Said Klaas, clearly a student of Thim, as he yanked the banewolf to the side.

* * *

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(-+-)

Before the _Nova Ignis_ came to a complete stop, the ramp was already opening. The squad expertly disembarked the chimera and took up covering positions whilst Tjitse, Koen, Mar and 'Eomund' turned to the bodies before them. Wazer shot a nervous look at the las volley's and stayed put.

Meanwhile Jan in his _Parent of Protection_ platoon rolled past their right while _Noble Ant III_ with Maxim's squad on boarddid so on the left, straight into the ruins of the heathen army. With strict orders not to use their multi lasers or heavy bolters they simply drove their chimera's over the surviving heathens. All thirty eight tons of it. Once in their enemies midst the Guardsmen within opened up through the firing ports, happily increasing the slaughter of the Emperor's enemies. Poorly aimed weapons fire impacted harmlessly on their hulls. Either from stray las shots, or lead bullets fired in desperation. The Storm Sworn knew they could expect little mercy after they killed a peace herald of the royalists, yet it was the only chance they had. Mercy being a privilege of the Emperor's loyal subjects their efforts were mostly in vain as the Emperor's soldiers disembarked, bayonet at the ready. A few would be taken for Astropathic interrogation.

An occasional smoke-light was the only resistance that greeted the onslaught of the 'Saints', to use the divine word. In the background, over the rapid succession of cracking sounds Eomund made out an alien melody. Even the sky had changed since the earlier apocalyptic battle. Now it was calm, clear and slowly turning red. Another sign that this was a historic moment in the history of Erep. Despite the situation he was struck by the surrealnes of the moment.

The healing hands of Power King 'Tjitse' and his servant 'Mokoen' were worked their miracles. He didn't understand what they were doing, or what those strange objects were, or what they were saying, but he was confident in their skills. Currently they were prying open eyes and, somehow this didn't really surprise Eomund, white light shining from their fingertips. Moving on Mokoen's light stopped for a moment before quickly moving on. It had been enough for Eomund to see the remains of a face. The jaws were scorched flesh and bone, the brain had popped out of the top of the skull.

Eomund fell sick, sick at the gruesome wound, sick that it happened after victory was assured; sick with everything.

The relieve he felt when Mokoen pulled Leod's intact face from beneath Onyx's burned mane was indescribable.

'Suns and Eagle, Suns and Eagle. Suns and Eagle.' He whispered as his eyes started to water. Leod's pale skin, almost translucent under the harsh light, contrasted the red blood spattered across his face, eyes blinking into light. Moving closer he grabbed Leod's hand.

'It's going to be oke. Don't worry.' Eomund tried to sound reassuring.

'Tjitse.' And then gibberish. Eomund didn't understand what they were saying. Mokoen called out for king Tjitse who gently took over, holding Eomund by the back of the neck while speaking softly in his divine tongue. Mokoen placed his hand Eomund's shoulder, a sad smile on his face as he spoke to him. Eomund didn't understand.

A flash of blue light shone brightly between Tjitse's hands. In the background the music reached a crescendo.

The platoon's chimeras had plowed straight into the heathens, _War Plow _as usual up front. Those that it didn't crush beneath its tracks were blasted by its the side mounted lasguns. At the far end of the camp the chimeras had come to a halt and deployed the infantry. Having closed the lid on the heathens Jan's platoon had started its sweep for the heretic lasgunner.

* * *

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(-+-)

Meeskers and Leocold dived for cover into a ditch for cover, mud splashed into their faces. Sergeant Haak already occupied it and eyed them coldly sending chills down Meeskers' spine as for a moment he thought he'd get shot. The moment passed as Haak nodded to him before looking over the edge. Lifting his head up from the mud Meeskers and Leocold followed suit.

Las beams whipped past them only a few meters ahead, destroying whatever it struck. Knocked over stoves and las shots hitting a source of fuel had started small fires, smoke was starting to obscure the killing field. In Meeskers' untrained eyes there wasn't anything left to kill. That wouldn't stop the Saints from firing, area denial had been crucial by Tjitse.

To his right Haak and Leocold ran forward. Meeskers quickly followed, he hadn't heard the sergeant's orders over the noise. Yet for some reason a single shot to his left was crystal clear. Adrenaline meant he ignored the sudden, sharp punch to his shoulder and flak armor meant he could afford to ignore the bullet. As the sergeant dove for cover the two troopers followed suit.

'Get into better firing positions you interns! And keep some distance between each other, they might have grenades.'

That, combined with stray las shots were enough reason for Meeskers to relish the mud as he crawled forward. To his right Haak rifle hunted for targets. When Leocold emulated the sergeant Meeskers did likewise when he found some cover. Breathing heavily he placed his barrel on a piece of wood for support. Muddy water was running down his fatigues, he tried his best to ignore it as he took aim.

And saw a small, terrified face stare at him, tears rolling down cheeks and a mouth twisted in a wordless scream. A young boy covered in scorched and blood soaked rags that were once clothes. For a moment Meeskers was at a loss what to do. Shoot or capture him…for interrogation. But he hesitated, conflicted on what to do. To his right and rear someone began singing a victory hymn, it was quickly picked up by the other troopers. Meeskers took comfort. What he should do was serve the Emperor. And grant the poor heathen a modicum of mercy. He closed his eyes and with a scream of his own weakness he pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Breathing heavily Meeskers opened his eyes and looked at his gun. The safety was still on. He looked incredulously up at the boy and grinned widely. All thoughts of discomfort gone, surely this was a sign from the Emperor.

Standing up he dashed forward to take the child alive. Terrified the boy leaped up and made a run for it. Crying he fell to the ground as the first lasbeams hit.

'Get down you intern.' Haak said, using the Novterrian slang, and forced Haak forced him down into the mud. A fat lead ball shot through the area his head had been half a second ago impacting the ground a meter away. Confused and breathing heavily Meeskers raised his dazed head just in time to see Leocold shoot the heathen gunmen twice in the chest. Meeskers blinked and body-slammed them both.

A salvo of red las shots stitched it way toward them across the mud hitting Leocold in the top of his head, cooking his skull. One of them came within an inch of Meesker's head, he could smell ozone.

_The Emperor protects_ Meeskers thought shuddered as he raised himself and pulled the trigger. His aim was off and he hit the heretic in the ankle, virtually exploding it in a puff of boiling tissue and bone. It might be enough but it was only then that he realized that his rifle was set to full automagic. The next shot blew out a chunk of the upper thigh, the next the stomach, solar plexus, throat and finally the face. It took a moment for Meeskers to realize three things. One, he had just killed the one person they were supposed to take alive. Two, the bastard had managed to burn away his left ear. And third and finally Haak was apparently aware of the first two points as he punched Meeskers in the head and he lost consciousness.

* * *

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The _Nova Ignis_ rode up the hill to inspect the heathen camp. Jan called over the vox and Pyt twisted some knobs to make it more audible.

'I repeat. Captain, we've secured the area and are commencing a proper search. These 'Storm' heathens posses some symbolism the clerics should look at. The casua…'

'The primary objective Jan?' That Jan didn't begin with it spoke volumes. _Great_.

'Partially successful captain. We have retrieved the lasgun but the heretic wielding it was killed. Horse casualties are roughly what is expected but were still making a count.'

'I'm sending Leeg over.' Tjitse motioned at Pyt who took the cue. 'My orders were clear lieutenant.' Tjitse spoke as the _Nova Ignis_ slowed down. He also wasn't too happy about the horses. It would give him an edge over Veer.

'Yes sir, however the trooper in question acted on instinct after being hit in the head. He actually survived. Haak has already delivered some ad hoc punishment to the trooper.' Not entirely true Jan knew, Meeskers had been hit by the superheated steam, Haak had actually done more damage to the boy. But it might mollify Tjitse, who was within his right to order Meeskers' execution. The captain wasn't overly fond of such punishment but wasn't shy of it either.

'Sunny here will see after his injuries.' The ramp lowered and Koen smiled like a sunshine idiot when he gave Tjitse the thumbs up and exited the chimera.

'He hit his head. Anything else Jan?'

'No captain.'

'Good, I'll see you in a minute, out.'

As he exited Tjitse saw the killing field. By the blood red light of a setting sun and the ghostly white lights of a dozen chimeras the remains of over two thousand dead heathens covered the ground all around them like some sort of macabre carpet, Pyt gasped and appeared close to crying as he quickly made picts of the scene, especially the handful of mutants among the dead. Most of the, human, debris had been cleared using dozer blades attached to the chimera. A squad from Jan's platoon stood at attention. A few dozen pitiful survivors knelt before them, hands tied behind and wearing a hood. From what Tjitse could tell these things were no lowly servants or serfs. The Astropathicus would be able to extract information from them regardless of linguistic barriers.

Exiting, the native 'Eomund' appeared numb and hardly looked around as he walked down the ramp. Behind him father Piers purposefully exited the _Nova Ignis_ in solemn prayer onto a field of the Emperor's Victory, Mar right behind him. Wazer's reaction was one of horror. Sticking her face into a destroyed cockpit had been bad enough, but this… She prayed to the Emperor for strength as Tjitse ordered her out. As Naval liaison she needed to be present. It took more will than she thought she possessed, but after a few seconds she hesitantly stepped down the ramp. The wind picked up and the scent of flowers mixed with that of an abattoir. She vomited. Piers supported her, spiritually. There was no schadenfreud from the other Saints, hardly any noise at all over the revving engines. Tjitse motioned Pyt to pull Serf out of the _Nova_ by his robes. Tjitse saluted the squad.

'Carry on men you did good.' They saluted again and returned to work of moving the dead. Tjitse leaned towards Pyt.

'Make sure you get some good angles. If necessary use some chimeras to position the bodies right and to provide lighting. And get a group shot of all the platoons.'

'Yes, sir. If we're lucky most the carrion birds won't be too spooked, will be good for the background.' Pyt replied, already looking for the best spots.

Tjitse saw Jan and Haak approaching cautiously moving through and over their victims to salute their commanding officer after what was, in a moment of supreme irony, technically a defeat. They had failed to secure the objective.

Saluting their captain, who didn't reciprocate the gesture, they got the hint.

'Leeg is coming for analysis; now show me what you managed to salvage lieutenant. That includes the heretic's body.'

'Yes captain.' Jan replied before leading them over the to the bits and pieces arrayed on wooden table. Only specialists could extract any useful information from that. _Great_.

'In bloody pieces. Still, have the remains secured and prepared to be shipped to orbit with the captives. Maybe they have the facilities to be made the wiser.'

'Yes sir.'

'That trooper who killed the heretic. How is his wound?'

'It looked pretty bad sir.' Jan replied casually, again technically true, the best lie is often the truth.

'Hmmm, I'll leave the punishment to you then.'

'Yes sir.' It appeared as if Haak would say something but decided against it. Tjitse didn't have much doubt the hard as nails sergeant would be gentle. Jan was about to speak but Tjitse interjected.

'Leeg is coming.' He said as he pointed with his cane at the approaching tech-priest carefully carrying the lasgun with his mechandrites. It took the other Saints a moment to properly see but then they could distinguish the red robes of the Martian priest from all the other red. Glowing green eye augmetics hidden beneath the hood.

When Leeg was in sufficient proximity to the Guardsmen verbal exloading began immediately. The relevant data expressed in a low gothic format.

'More advanced analyses of this machine-spirit is required than can be provided on-site Recommend transfer of object to the ship _Steadfast _for analyses by Magos Pulleyard.'

Most looked disappointed at Leeg. They had hoped for more, the mystery would remain. Tjitse raised the corner of his mouth. He had a better understanding of how the Mechanicus mind worked, courtesy of master Mattematicus.

'What are the results of the preliminary analysis Enginseer?'

' There is a 95% chance that this was fired at the diplomatic envoy. There is a 93.1% chance that the weapon was Imperial Guard issue prior to its corruption. There is a 87.6% chance that the weapon was manufactured on the hallowed Forgeworld Arbet in M40-382.'

There was a moment of silence until Tjitse grabbed the white dataslate attached to Serf. Piers braced himself.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter eight**

_The void is vast, and Holy Terra is far away._

Imperial proverb.

Colonel Marks Nuyen was slowly shook from a pleasant dream involving scantily clad ladies and a Baneblade. He opened his eyes and looked into the poster boy face of his second in command, major Gerard Stam. Attempting to ask what the frakking problem somehow became a yawn.

'All hail.'

Gerard held up a dataslate and a cup of caffeine for the old man, planetary lag was a bitch; his biorhythm had adjusted for another destination. Not this frakking backwater. Marks lit up a lho-stick and began to haul himself up, longingly inhaling the smoke, then reached for the cup of caffeine, grunting something as he took a sip. Only then did he reluctantly grabbed the offered dataslate as well.

'The Saints of His Victory.' Marks replied before looking at Gerard. Major Gerard Stam was a progenitor, born in the earliest days of the old regiment, conceived, perhaps, by a then corporal Marks. None pushed the issue; years ago an understanding of sorts had been reached between all potentially concerned parties and a respect born from fighting in the old regiment. With a softening expression on his wrinkled, leathery face the colonel sipped from his cup.

'My pleasure sir.'

'What time is it?'

'It's morning local time and very early morning standard Terran time. Probably that's the reason for the rapport sir.'

The colonel grunted something, The Saints were rather fond of their grey colonel, a man who had risen from the ranks in a previous 13th Novter, before it had been ground down too far, before it was refounded.

'Frak, from the look of you, the inking rain stopped.' Marks' tone was accusatory.

'My apologizes colonel. Deployment is following schedule. The execution is running smoothly.' Tjitse might have run into/stirred up some crap, but apparently it hadnt been anything to immediately notify the colonel over. Gerard continued.

'We received an encrypted Astropathic communication from the _Steadfast_. My clearance isn't high enough to read but I could tell it's a report from the fifth.'

Marks frowned, this was unusual he thought to himself, extinguishing the bud of his lho-stick. Gerard didn't need to hear the question.

'I have no idea. It could have something to do with the Astropath general Antsi gave him. It's practically a burned out shell, it might only be able to reach its own choir. It might just be Tjitse.' _Trying to get the attention of brassholes so he could lick it, _was his unstated but obvious enough opinion.

Marks knew that his two alpha officers, Gerard and Tjitse, were opposites in almost everyway, bringing opposed but equally valid approaches to the battlefield. But privatley he had a special place in his heart for Gerard. That didn't sit well with Marks. Unity of effort, a key component of victory and Imperial doctrine in general. The working relation between the two was reasonable enough. Lighting another smoke he looked at the den beside his bunk. Homini Rex was still soundly asleep. The aging, partially bionic, shaggy mascot fully exercised his canine privileges, couldn't have that. Smiling Marks scratched the dogs head, waking the animal.

'What do you think?' Marks asked, petting his best friend. Homini just cocked his head and yawned which made Marks smile. Gerard looked as is if he might say something but decided against it.

'So what does Tjitse say that's important enough to use his warp-damned Astropath?' Marks asked between inhaling his lho-stick. Reaching into his pockets he retrieved his old dog tags. Swiping them past the dataslate his machine-spirit whispered the correct code to appease its kin and reveal more of itself. Pressing the correct rune sequence the message revealed itself fully.

Old eyes darting sharply across the message. His wrinkled face frowned as he pressed a rune to play pict and voice recordings. The red beam ending Leod's life drew a curse from Gerard.

'God-Emperor file this execution! Why the hell didn't Antsi warn me sooner? This happened yesterday. Major get me an Astropath and talk to the other colonels. I'm heading Guard command. ' Marks put on some clothing as Gerard keyed his microbead to relay some orders. Homini woke up and raised its head, sniffing the air. No strangers, no food and after Marks had padded the dog it lowered its head again.

'Frak!' Marks suddenly called out. 'I need a smoke.' Gerard smirked as Marks grabbed another lho-stick and exited the tent. Which promptly got Homini on his feet.

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Sergeant Wil smiled happily and decided to celebrate the good things happening by lighting one of his better cigars, taking a drink from his better voidshine, popping some chems and last but not least giving thanks to the captain, and to the Emperor for the bounty. He looked at ripe fields of scythed bodies, soaking in bloody spoils, and raised his canteen to the fortunate dead. The men followed his lead, time for a break from hard, but very profitable, work. Wil's heavily tattooed hand distributed a pack of smokes, why the hell not, he was feeling charitable. Naturally none declined. Karl pulled out his flask and passed it along.

'Finally passing the good stuff along Karl?' Asus remarked with a smirk as Leocolt took a hearty swig.

'If any of you misers ever passed anything around that wasn't a disease it must be a miracle.' Joris replied. Wil barked a laugh and looked at the others. 'I'm sure they'll be more generous in the future.' Wil gestured at their spoils while enjoying an extra big puff. Relaxed the men started chatting and joking. Telling each other what they're going to do with the money.

Tjitse had ordered Pol, Jan and Freterik onwards; scouting ahead, marking paths, gathering intel, removing obstacles, looking for camp sites, river crossings, stealing horses and killing any 'Storm Sworn' they came across. The non-mechanized infantry had been given horses to help them along. Tjitse had prepared some sort of rotating, leapfrogging schedule designed to steal the cup. Thus leaving young Julia's platoon of former gangers, delinquents and criminals to pick through the dead for more 'evidence'. The elite of a society had died here, elites that no doubt carried lots of valuable metals and gems with them, at least according to Tjitse. The limits of their primitive financial system, according to Tjitse, apparently forced them to take much of their wealth with them. Not to mention the requirement of flaunting said wealth for social hierarchy purposes. How the captain knew Wil didn't know. But he had been right off course.

Wil and Tjitse used to run the modest but profitable operation with commissar Alex. But Alex got greedy, a liability. Will took another long haul from his smoke, the coal glowed bright red. Tjitse's plan to kill Alex had been a stroke of brilliance. Slip him some carefully selected substances from the chemstills into his regular supply while taking the antidote yourself as a precaution. Two, wait till he gets found with severe brain damage. Three, don't grin as the commissariat investigation team finds copious amounts of illegal, used and tainted substances in his quarter. Four, don't laugh out loud as the commissariat does the dirty work for you. There was of course a bit more to it than that. Getting rid of anything implicating the commissar to their operation or picking the proper chemicals. If Alex had used a contaminated batch you couldn't just have any random chemical show up in the toxscreen. Thus leaving Wil and Tjitse in control. He had no illusions who the senior partner was.

Tjitse had already cautioned Wil on not overspending and drawing attention. At first he thought the captain had lost his mind. But after giving it some thought he had to agree. A luxury problem, that's what Tjitse had called it, a strange concept for a former Hanze Howler, but one that Wil was happy to entertain.

Wil took another puff from his cigar as he considered Tjitse. The captain reminded Wil of the aristocrats the big bosses courted for favors and protection. By extension that made him something of a big boss. And that made him like Tjitse a lot.

'All right everybody back to work. …Johan are you frakking whining. Yeah that's what I thought. If you're too lazy for this and screw around I'll throw you to the dickwolves of eight company.'

Criminals they might be, they were no fools or heretics. Anything that smelled remotely like the Archenemy; even if it was an exceptionally large diamond broche Wil thought proudly, was piled together in one spot for the clergy to inspect. Piers had drawn an Aquila in the willingly given blood of the faithful around the suspect items. The veteran priest never asked about the rest. Disciple Mar, walking around the Aquila in a trancelike state carrying a book aloft and chanting prayers to banish the unholy, didn't have the mind to ask. Utterly focused upon his spiritual battle against the Ruinous Powers, Mar didn't give them any attention, but they were still wary of him.

Truth be told Wil was thankful for the disciple's prayers, even if he didn't particularly like the man. Mar possessed a faithful zealousness that made Wil feel ashamed and guilty.

'So how much do you think sarge?' Corporal Karl asked.

'Hmm can't say until we do the entire site off course. But I'd say it's better than the entire Sherxis execution, these heathen petitioners were rich. I'll be sorry when we have to file this execution and get reassigned to the Fa dossier. At least now we can finally buy a life time supply of dirty magazines, cheap interns, smokes, drinks and chems, or at least a few months if you're Cornelis.' There were some laughs, even from Cornelis. 'At least I get a discount with the interns.' He jokingly boasted to the laughter of the men. 'Yeah, if you would just please bathe and brush your teeth beforehand.' Wil added to the amusement of all.

As the laughter died down Wil could hear a low whine coming from the sky. Various transport craft had been flying over all evening but this one was different. As it came closer Wil could make out the source of the noise. The angle of the rising noise, the blinking lights and exhaust afterglow told Wil what he needed to know.

'Asus go look for Julia, Johan I want you to find Tjitse, in case they are apart. Tell them we have unexpected visitors. The rest, hide the good stuff, now.'

'Yes sir.' And they moved off while the rest started to expertly hide .

'You know who it is sarge?' Cornelis asked.

'Off course not, you idiot. Do you think I would have said unexpected if I knew who it was?' Not for the first or last time Wil contemplated the rampant stupidity in the Guard.

'Oh yeah, must be someone important though.' Wil wanted to punch Cornelis but restrained himself.

Now that the craft was closer and about to land in the shallow valley between both camps Wil was sure his call was right. Not that he knew its name, but he had occasionally seen it before. Used to ferry the brassholes around. Looked vaguely like an Aquila.

'Karl, I'm going up to whoever this is. In the mean time act like that thing carries a cranky Lord Commissar with a toothache, so pass some gum around. Joris, Willem, you're with me.' Shielding his eyes from the downwash Wil walked towards the landing craft with Joris and Willem falling in. They chewed quickly before spitting out their gum when they reached the landing zone. It's engines slowed down as it touched down but didn't completely stop.

The hatch slowly opened, vapor and bright halogen light poured out... Stately a tall figure descended from the craft with a flowing cape. For a moment Wil's heart stopped a beat, thinking he saw Alex. But it was another commissar.

Long black trenchcoat with silver threaded skeletal pattern embroidered upon it with matching gloves. Beneath the trenchcoat was a richly decorated, but no doubt functional, set of armor. A radiant Emperor seated upon the Golden Throne prominently displayed upon the chest piece. Two decorated bolt pistols in equally decorated holsters just visible beneath the trenchcoat. A cape of purity seals adorning the back, shoulders and arms of the commissar, fluttered in the downwash. Most striking was the face, or rather its absence. Instead a skull like mask of adamantium took its place with a small golden Aquila on the forehead. Two black holes acted like viewports for the equally black eyes of the Commissar. A regular issue commissar cap completed the face of terror. Wil's felt chills creep up his spine. That, Wil realized, was a _real_ commissar.

A squad of seven cadets emerged from the hatch as well. Equipped much like a Guardsmen but with a blue trimmed uniformed they still possessed an aura of harsh discipline.

The Commissar turned its skull face to the three Guardsmen who collectively swallowed before promptly saluting. The Commissar walked out, cadets in tow, once at a safe distance their transport's engines grew louder as it took off. With difficulty they kept standing in the downwash but the Commissar showed no such weaknesses. After the craft was away they stood there underneath the Commissar's gaze. Several highly uncomfortable minutes later Tjitse and his staff arrived. Both sides sharply saluted each other, one from fear, one from duty. The natives who followed their king around were clearly unsettled by the commissar, even afraid. Wil sympathized; he just hoped they wouldn't wet themselves upon learning what the commissariat really is.

Deciding a good offensive was the best defense Tjitse stepped forward.

'Commissar the timing of your unexpected arrival is impeccable. Next to all the data on the lasweapon we recently concluded a field exam and you can help ensure the men learn the proper lessons.'

'Education and punishment!' The cadets called out simultaneously. Only shortly wrong footed Tjitse introduced his staff.

'This is sub-lieutenant Wazer, Lieutenant Julia, sergeant Pyt, medicae officer Koen and troopers Dirk, Hein, Ed, Asus and Johan.' All saluted the Commissar again when their name was called.

'This is a native lord; Eomund.' Upon hearing his name the native crudely imitated the salute before making an Aquila. The skull's gaze rested on Eomund, who winced, before turning back to Tjitse.

'And I see you have already met sergeant Wil and troopers Joris and Willem from Julia's platoon. Now unless you have specific orders to execute at this time…' Tjitse motioned to the camp. _If you're here for me commissar, then just get it over with._ The skull face replied in a harsh monotone artificial voice, no doubt perfectly modulated to work on man's animalistic nature.

'You are hereby informed of the execution of the condemned once known as Alexander in accordance to the dictates of the Emperor's _Lex militas_. These cadets and myself have been tasked by the hallowed chain of command to enforce the morale and discipline of the fifth company of the thirteenth regiment of Novter for an undetermined period of time. Rejoice, for our dedication is absolute.'

'Great.' Tjitse said, holding his composure as he cheered that wasn't being executed. 'Pyt here will arrange for your quarters for tonight and copies of the field exam and the investigation. After your done come see me we have some details to clarify, though it's nothing urgent.'

'Those in service to the Emperor become more than mortal.' The cadets called out again.

'The Emperor Protects.' Tjitse replied

'The Emperor Protects.' Replied all but the natives before.

'Wil get back to work, I want the bodies filtered and ready for the pyre by dawn. Commissar, cadets, please follow me.'

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White petals rained down from the vaulted adamantium roof, fluttering in a carefully controlled and perfumed breeze. Bright sun light shone through the twenty meter high stained glass windows, silhouetting the choir and orchestra. Music sang softly across the lavish ballroom as a good, though small-scale, performance of _Sol Invictus _entered its conclusion. There were few around to enjoy the privilege. As the last notes echoed away general Antsi rose from his seat and applauded, Osissis, only applauded, he was captain after all.

Pontifex Benevaux massive frame made a short bow and gestured at the orchestra and choir who took their cue and bowed. Supported by two aides who each carried one of the massive laupels Benevaux made way to the table, heavy with a sumptuous diner as the choir and orchestra began another piece. As dignified as possible the Pontifex was lowered in his chair. The three dignitaries solemnly took their crystal glasses. Antsi opened his mouth but Osissis beat him to it, a hint of annoyance on the younger man's face.

'One of your best performances my old friend. To the Emperor.' With that they took a sip. Antsi and Benevaux from their amasec and Osissis from his comet water, lest the ship itself get 'drunk'.

'Thank you captain, I must say that I'm inspired by Him on this blessed day.' The aide wiped the sweat from Benevaux's brow. Plucking a petal from his glass Antsi spoke.

'Speaking of which have you reviewed my suggestion given captain Velden's report?' Osissis' nostrils flared but showed no other emotion at being compared to an ant.

'Hmmm yes I have general.' Benevaux thoughtfully sloshed his drink for a few seconds. Antsi was about to say something, he had a shuttle to catch, when Benevaux started again. 'Your request for spiritual reinforcements has its merits even if it might prove unnecessary. I do however have some concerns that I would like to voice.' Benevaux took a sip as Osissis' aide refilled Antsi's glass.

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Tjitse's hands played with his cane, it helped him regain control. Involuntarily his glands had secreted some of their contents, the biochemical rush didn't help, but frak that was scary. Imperceptibly he exhaled deeply. He turned his mind to his new fief and how to incorporate the commissar into it. There likely wouldn't be any legal challenges to the natives crowning him king. If there had been the Commissar would have had orders to ensure that Tjitse would comply with it.

In the long and glorious history of the Imperium of Man it was rare but not unique to hear about newly landed Guardsmen being declared lords, kings or even gods. There were legal barriers in place that prevented the first dog soldier down the ramp to rule the world. Officers, especially the true aristocracy don't have such problems for obvious reasons. Dividing the spoils of war amongst the upper echelons involved social rules with the power of unwritten law providing a semblance of fairness. Tjitse had half expected that a claim would be petitioned against him, perhaps accompanied by a settlement offer by whoever made the claim, depending on how high up that person was. Luckily that wasn't the case.

Once at the camp Tjitse homed straight in to 'command center' ignoring the natives. By now a few like Eomund were slowly getting blunted to wonders surrounding them. Tjitse was quite pleased with that. Amusing as the natives had been at first it quickly became annoying.

Tjitse had allowed the natives to set up their family colors next to the tent, combined with the music playing from the voxsystems it was impossible to miss. In equally colorful dress a native servant held the tent flap open and bowed to his king. Walking in Tjitse ordered for someone to get him a herbal infusion, not caring who carried the order out, as long as it was carried out. The Commissar's arrival was unexpected and unpleasant, he needed the drink. A collective shudder from the Saints told them they had noticed the Commissar.

The tent contained a mix of exotic native furniture and advanced Imperial equipment. Vox units, codifier banks and auspex's crewed by Guardsmen stood on tables of native hardwood. The few natives allowed into the tent stood around the central chart-desk, displaying orbital scans of the entire region, looking rather lost. In a way Tjitse pitied them, they had no idea what was going to happen. But after the societal shocks had subsided they would prosper in ways they couldn't even imagine. Eomund approached them, no doubt to discuss the new arrivals.

Tags were added to the main display as information became available. Leeg stood nearby. Though it was hard to tell Tjitse was fairly certain the Enginseer resented his new role as glorified translator.

At the far end of the tent the _Nova Ignis' _rear had driven through a hole cut in the canvas. Tjitse immediately made way for it and with a content sigh he sat down in his command chair. Wazer appeared by his side and sniveling offered him her own cup.

'No sugar but it's still warm and I hardly drank from it before we went out to meet our surprise guests. Talkative bunch don't you think?' Wazer said, nervously shooting a glance across the tent. Two cadets had taken up position outside the tent while the remaining five formed up around the tent with the Commissar and an unhappy Pyt studying the chart-desk.

'Thanks.' He gave her a grateful nod as he took it in his gloved hands and took a sip. 'Hmmm indeed, fluent in commissariat though.'

'Yeah, I hope they don't bite you too hard Tjitse.' Wazer sniffled, her smile part sympathy part schadenfreud. Still aloof and dismissive of the mud and ants, as becoming a Naval liaison, she warmed up slightly after the crash and her emotional recovery. Didn't matter much though. Liaisons don't stick around. Nonetheless at the moment she was being useful on an administrative side.

'Poor Pyt though.' Dirk added to the conversation from nowhere. 'I know it's important what he does but sometimes I'm glad he is the sergeant and not me.' He sounded sympathetic, but it was hard to tell sometimes.

'More often though I think he is glad that he is a sergeant and you're the one hauling a plasma gun around.' Sunny added semi-jokingly.

'Hey I got protection,' he tapped his carapace armor, 'and I like hauling a gun around that shoots miniature suns by the way. It's a good thing.'

'Don't you think he is trying to overcompensate for anything mo?' Hein asked with a smirk.

'Absolutely, it's ironic though, both his weapons are prone to malfunctioning.' Sunny added. There was general laughter, even Wazer joined in, though she ended in a cough when the Commissar to looked up. Tjitse smiled as he sipped from his drink. Julia stood at the side, smiling unsurely. Only recently graduated from her internship she wasn't sure how to react to the quips of men who had faced danger together. She decided on finishing her paperwork and calling it a day as much as her biorhythm protested.

Tjitse turned away from his men's jesting and glanced upon the hololithic display. He made out several new pieces of information had been added thanks to the natives. He wasn't only gathering mission relevant information but also cultural information. The topographic properties of the south western peninsula of Undeb's main continent had been overlaid with data on the native polities. The multinational empire of 'Cragrop' centered around city #1, the semi-nomadic steppe nations of Ijzel up north that would become Heerman's problem the contested Zyxian lands stuck between 'Cragrop', 'Farmaso' and his new kingdom of 'Erep', centered around Accrearres, his future possessions; the city-states of 'Puntland' further down the peninsula, threatened by mutant 'Grotesques', and much more. He'd become the ruler of a sizable and growing piece if real-estate. The agricultural yields alone would make a killing by feeding the ravenous appetite on Bazin or Arbet. Well at least once superior production patterns would be introduced, and after the Administratum establishes the medicae assets necessary to deal with the beginning pandemic. The sneezing and coughing had already begun. But that would be his family's and the Imperium's concern, not his. He merely acquired the asset before moving to more death and glory in Fa. His bittersweet musing ended when he realized how hungry he was. Getting up he walked to the food table, resolutely brushing Serfin aside. The Astropath's brain was burned out as were at least some of his senses but enough tissue apparently remained for some olfactory based behavior; he was drawn to the food. On table there were standard officer field rations alongside native dishes. Various roasts, stews, cooked fish and a few unidentifiable substances as well as exotic spices. They smelled and looked great. Leeg had verified that they contained no toxins, for the rest one could only hope that they had been heated well. Tjitse didn't take the chance though, rations it was, he had no intention of getting sick.

Returning to his chair with a cup of spiced nutribroth and some bread Tjitse saw that progress was going as fast as could be expected. That is to say, surprisingly fast. An Enginseer with a dataslate can be a remarkably efficient translation tool if instructed well. His own datacord helped.

The fifth company now had a fairly good picture of the region, in more than the geographical sense. Locations, persons, factions and entities of importance, sites of production, lines of communication and transportation, and most importantly several Storm sites were now known and under attack.

Translating the native's language into Low Gothic was taking some time. Some of the natives had picked up some Low Gothic, as expected a disproportionate amount of their vocabulary consisted of variations on frak, file, petition, rust, Throne and worst of all; warpstorms. The same was true, in all probability, the other way around.

'Enginseer Leeg.' Tjitse said to draw the Enginseer's attention. Leeg didn't approach, the techpriest's hearing had been augmented, instead he focused two of his red eyes upon Tjitse.

'Give me the feed on information update's since I left and give me the highlights.' Tjitse's dataslate chimed and his microbead cracked into life by the will of the Enginseer.

'The coat of arms and heraldry of four more heretical genealogies have been inloaded, fourteen words have been newly translated and six translations have been refined captain Velden.' Enginseer Leeg was motionless for a second. 'Selection complete, defaulting to translation instructions.' The red eyes shifted away from Tjitse.

With that out of the way Tjitse turned to his time table. Unfortunately according to the latest numbers provided by Neeltje and Sytse he hadn't been acquiring enough horses in the field to make up for those too tired to continue transporting the infantry. Luckily it would be enough to overtake Veer and take the lead. Though Heerman and Mien were making a strong effort. It was still too early in the execution to say for sure who would take the cup. After a moment Tjitse refocused upon his Munitorum forms.

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After a few minutes of the relaxing work Pyt and the Commissar approached. The former having a serious, worried face. The latter walked with purpose. Tjitse involuntarily swallowed but calmed himself with the knowledge that he hadn't been executed yet. He waited patiently until they reached him; Pyt was uncomfortably trying to speak but the Commissar's electronic voice quickly made things clear.

'In four and a half minutes you will engage my cadets in unarmed hand to hand combat.'

'…Oke.' Tjitse didn't know what else to say and the Commissar was about to turn and leave.

'Any particular reason why?' He asked as an afterthought.

'No.' Came the deadpan reply.

'…Oke.' _Great._

Fists held up, at the ready, Tjitse and cadet number four circled each other inside a circle of chimera's and spectating Saints. Like an edgy predator the Commissar circled them both, the skull mask as sinister and emotionless as always. Tjitse knew it for what it was, a rigged dick measuring contest. Tjitse had an ace in the gland but he was unwilling to use it for this, humiliating as it was going to be.

Number four swung with her right arm but Tjitse managed to block it. It was a diversion and he failed to see her right low kick coming. It impacted painfully against his left thigh but even though he was pushed back by the follow up he managed to deflect the worst of it. This round was going much better than the whole eight seconds against # five.

'An interesting adaptation, using the natives domesticated beasts to improve your company's action radius.' The emotionless voice of the prowling Commissar spoke. Tjitse aimed for the solar plexus but was blocked by number four; of the two subsequent attacks one managed to impact number four's left shoulder, causing her to take a step back.

'The Commissar asked you a question captain.' Number four said between breaths as she launched a counter attack that barely missed his throat.

'That was an observation, not a question cadet.' Tjitse said as he reflexively kicked out, sheer luck making him impact her inner thigh. Slightly too slow with his following up Tjitse did manage to push number four back until later almost managed a kidney blow.

'Did you gain the tactic from the Tactica Imperialis?' The circling Commissar asked.

'I'm sure something like it has been added by a rough rider once upon a time.' Tjitse said between breaths. A flurry of fists and kicks shot out from the cadet, the majority of which Tjitse barely managed to counter. Those that got through conveyed the intended message.

_Great._

'No.' Tjitse considered saying something snappy but instead decided that attacking the cadet was a better message. His left hook was, predictably, side stepped to Tjitse's left. Number four fluently retaliated but Tjitse's left backhand managed to deflect most of it. At the same time he used the momentum to step to the right and at the same time make a right hook that actually penetrated the cadet's defenses. This time Tjitse didn't waste time with following it up, this time the cadet didn't hold back.

'These boys never mounted a living thing in their life.' Tjitse could make out the hissing disapproval coming from the surrounding Saints, the corners of his mouth rose. 'Do you think their muscles can take it?' Came the electronic voice. His heart pounding, not to mention a certain cadet, Tjitse struggled to answer properly in between heavy breaths.

'Yes. A day in the chimeras, a day mounted with regular dismounts to spare the muscles. The officers know how to ride them properly.' He had barely finished before the cadet's kicks forced him backwards, almost cornering him against a chimera but Tjitse managed to move around and create some distance.

'How do you dream captain?' The Commissar unexpectedly asked behind Tjitse's back.

'What!?' Tjitse asked surprised but before he could fully recover the cadet had lunged forward, her right fist scrapped Tjitse cheek but her left uppercut hit him square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Half coughing, half retching Tjitse doubled over. A strong kick by the cadet against the back of Tjitse's knee and a yank on his hair and he was on the ground. On instinct Tjitse rolled to the side, barely evading the downward kick aimed for his stomach. Grabbing a handful of dirt from the ground Tjitse managed to get into something of an upward position and throw the sand into the cadet's eyes. On reflex number four reached for her eyes. As Tjitse fully rose he exploited the opening for all it was worth; by kicking number four full in the groin. There was a collective hiss but Tjitse paid no heed to it as he swung for where the jaw and throat met sending the cadet to the ground. He was about to pounce on her limp form when he felt pain shoot through his side and he slammed into the rear of a chimera. Quickly turning his aching body around and holding his fists ready, drawing deep breaths. Calmly removing the coat and throwing it on top of the recovering cadet the Commissar took a fighting position. In hindsight Tjitse shouldn't have given the Commissar the chance.

'Do not make me repeat myself captain Tjitse.' The name accompanied by a quick series of blows and kicks Tjitse couldn't really defend against.

'…I don't. Three nights ago…as we arrived in the Undeb system.' His kick was easily side stepped and he was pushed back the Commissar's retaliation. 'I dreamt…for the first time in…that's all I remember.' The Commissar seemed to contemplate Tjitse's words for a moment but instead began a furious assault Tjitse only managed to take the edge off.

'What's your involvement with commissar Alex?' Asked the Commissar offensively.

'Warpstorms!' Tjitse snarled as he took the blows so he could double punch the Commissar. 'Commissariat's responsibility…not mine.'

Tjitse coughed. Unexpected but not unwelcome. The phlegm hitting the Commissar in the right eyesocket thus giving him the slightest opening at the solar plexus. His punch forced the Commissar back a step, the voxbox betraying its master by making the gasp audible, unfortunately it also opened up his knuckles against the body armor Tjitse had completely forgotten about. Biting through the self-inflicted pain Tjitse's attempted kick was easily blocked by the Commissars shin. Using his momentum Tjitse launched forward with his bleeding fist while his opponent was still off balance.

Blinking, Tjitse somehow found himself struggling for breath, a boot firmly on his throat and an arm that was being twisted out of his socket. Darkness circled at the edge of his vision and light exploded behind his eyes. Using his free hand he tapped down. After a few more seconds he was released from his stranglehold. Gasping for air and in pain Tjitse managed to sit up. A concerned Pyt and a cheery Koen quickly approached their bloody officer. The Commissar meanwhile took the offered coat from a bruised and bloody number four.

'One out of three, better than expected captain. Next time we won't hold back, next time it will be worse.' The utterly emotionless voice somehow made it sound like a promise. It did go better than expected, seeing as it could be a _lot_ worse; bolt round to the head worse. But he was fairly sure that wouldn't happen now.

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Marks blew on his caffeine. Yawning, then coughing the old colonel shook his head to get the sleep out. He needed it to stay awake and ripping through planetary lag was beyond his aging frame. Death would come to him sooner rather than later, and he would be unafraid of it, he had grown much older and lived fuller than he could have imagined. As long as it wouldn't be his frakking lungs, that would just blow. Honoring the Emperor's protection thus far by lighting another lho-stick he hoped the colonels Giurty and Myano of the 28th Bish and 1st Sherxis respectively would soon arrive. After a few minutes of waiting the colonels arrived, in the presence of a proud general Antsi, immediately followed by a group of heavily armored soldiers carrying strange shields. The soldiers took up position around them, pointing their shields inward, at the surprised officers. Marks blinked and then blinked again. They were enveloped in the total silence of shimmering grey tones by a portable privacy field. A particularly hazy patch of grey texture seemed to somehow float in the middle of them. Marks' immediate thought and action was triggered by the gut wrenching memory of an assassination a decade ago, though this time the light wasn't hostile.

No, this was worse, far worse.

A slowly rotating hololithic Inquisitorial rosette bloomed in their isolation cocoon.

Rusting, inking, auditing, _fucking_ inquisitors…

Rust!

Slowly, bones cracking, Homini Rex got out of his, in a loose sense of the word, very comfortable den. He yawned, the metallic teeth in his lower jaw glistened in the half-light. Shaking his whitening head the old dog stretched his muscles. Walking in short circles he settled down again on his other side. Closing his eyes Homini Rex returned to sleep.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter nine**

_Be Ignorant, let the Emperor think for you._

Religious commandment.

Eomund sighed realizing that he didn't realize anything. Numb, dazed, confused; all these labels fitted him.

It was these, these Imperials, these Saints, these Heavenly Warriors, these _things_. Giants of might and a light so bright to behold it bleached his mind. His head started to spin just thinking too much _about_ them. For some reason he took his new weapon. A heavenly blade, previously gifted to king Leod, the king with the shortest reign ever. He looked at the twin-headed eagle emblazoned upon the crossguard. Slowly he twisted the plasteel blade around, in imitation of the scepter wielded by Tjitse, The Power That Rules, not who, not which, that. After a few moments he mentally gasped, Suns and Eagle protect me from yourself.

This morning. The only correct description. A lifetime ago. Once every detail would have burned into his memory, not now. He had experienced too much for that. But some parts were clear, too clear.

Using their dozer blades the chimeras were adding the last hundred or so to the top of the pile. Their heavy threads pulverizing the already mutilated corpses beneath their weight. More than four thousand naked bodies had been dumped to form the crude shape of an eagle. The buzzing of untold flies audible even over the rumble of those metal beasts. Various liquids were oozing out and mixing at the bottom of the pile. It reached the feet of the Heavenly elders, if they noticed such mortals things they didn't certainly didn't care. Another one, sporting a forked white beard, had arrived at sometime, from somewhere, and was now speaking in their Heavenly tongue. The book held aloft by the young giant translated, he couldn't remember a single word. And then a dozen Saints had stepped forward carrying backpacks and holding what looked like 'lasguns'. As the priests put on their own backpacks Eomund had noticed something. There appeared to be small flames at the end of the guns. As he wondered what it was about The Power That Rules spoke one word. More than a hundred Saints started to sing as the ones with the backpacks moved around the pyre. And then great streams of fire sloshed over the bodies. The stink of burning flesh was almost overpowering, so much of it. So much of it. Yet all he could remember with any detail was how Tjitse's right hand 'Pyt' walked around the ordered lines grinning like Mokoen, carrying around a small box that flashed. Later there had been something vague about horses. Then he sat among them, within a pleasantly cool _'Nova Ignis'_, slowly feeling ice cubes melt in his trembling hands as outside summer reigned and fire turned to ash.

After what may have been minutes or hours to Eomund they came to an abrupt halt. The unknown g-forces sending the unprepared Eomund across the hold into the outstretched arms of the red headed Saint. The sudden alien sensation pulling Eomund from his stupor. Embarrassed he blushed as he tried to apologize to the redhead as the ramp was lowered. There was a rush of movement around Eomund as the redhead patted him on the shoulder and followed his comrades out. Bewildered he walked after them into the roasting noon suns.

Outside Pyt tapped his shoulder. Turning around Eomund saw the aide-de-camp holding two of their mysterious arcane objects, and offering one of them to him. Carefully grabbing he saw that it was a 'slate' used for communication between the Saints and the Erepians. A quick glance told Eomund his role to play; a translator between king Tjitse and the town off… He blinked and looked at the town, it was familiar, it was…couldn't be. This morning they'd been almost two weeks travel away. He turned to Pyt but the Saint had already walked away with his own arcane device, a small box with a small cylinder sticking out of it. Eomund recognized it as the flashing device Pyt had used during the cremation. He felt a sick, twisted feeling in his gut, only exacerbated by the sight of the black clad Skull with steel eyed young lurking behind them…

After about a minute Eomund found his king talking to a sweaty lieutenant in a buttoned down uniform. A woman, not Julia or Wazer, and old enough to be a spinster at age thirty, and yet with the most kissable lips he had seen in his life. King Tjitse stiffly introduced her as Eefje, Eomund bowed; she nodded at him before turning back to Tjitse and continuing their conversation in Gothic. They soon finished and made their way to the _Nova Ignis_, Tjitse motioning Eomund to follow them. He was surprised to see his king walk with a slight limp and using his cane for support but didn't dare, or know how, to ask him about it. Eefje didn't have the trouble and commented in an amused tone. Tjitse replied quasi-gruffly causing her to smile. Reaching the transport Eefje quickly climbed up and offered a helping hand to Tjitse. Reluctantly he accepted it, groaning and with the help of Klaas and Thim he managed to get up with a degree of decorum. Once on top Tjitse stretched his body the popping of bones clearly audible before surveying the area around him. When his eyes fell upon Eomund he spoke a few words to Thim who dove into the Nova and returned with something resembling a horn, offering it to Eomund and quickly showing him how this particular piece of magic worked.

Tjitse brought his finger to his ear and spoke a few words. Immediately the assembled Saints reacted. Led by the aging priest more than a hundred began singing while behind them hundreds of musicians blasted from boxes. The _Nova Ignis_ rolled forward, almost unbalancing the two people on top. Instinctively reached for the Aquila around his neck and placed one foot on the turret for stability while Eefje sat down and made herself comfortable in front of it, lips slightly parted. More than a dozen Saints raised conquered standards around them as they followed the machine forward. Pyt fluttered around, his box occasionally flashing. Remembering his own role Eomund kept up as well. Slowly approaching the shocked town Eomund could start to make out the open jaws of the inhabitants on the walls. Suddenly the machine came to a halt, but this time Eefje and Tjitse cooly kept their balance. The latter raised his middle finger high for all to see, the twin suns reflecting from the Ring of Rulers. Pyt's box repeatedly flashed and Eomund took this as his cue, activating the horn and putting it to his lips while keeping one eye on his slate.

'The Power that hath decendeth forth from Heaven demands that you… OBEY!'

Tjitse slowly moved his middle finger from left to right so all the natives could see it.

_Great._

'Purge the unclean.' Tjitse brought his cane down with some force before quickly shifting some weight to it. Immediately half a dozen flamers spat gouts of sticky fire at the nooks and crannies and shattered windows of the Storm Sworn temple. Once, no doubt, worthy to house the Spirit of Humanity. It, like the native priests screaming inside, had Fallen from Ignorance, had fallen to the Storm. Piers blessed the fire with the trinity of holy water, blood, and promethium; swinging his aspergillum vigorously. Mar clumsily led more than fifty Saints in chanting their contempt as hundreds of stunned natives looked on silence.

Tjitse coughed but it was masked by the whine of Dirk's plasmagun adding its contempt to the chorus. The blue plasmoid bringing down the central tower. Wiping the sweat from his brow Tjitse called Serf to him. Grabbing the white dataslate dangling from its spine he entered his cipher and message, a shudder creeping down his spine.

"South Western Town number twenty five under control, purge in progress, safe to shuttle down Ecclesiarchy personnel. Status: _Great._" Pressing the send rune the choir hit a foul note, Piers froze solid and the fire suddenly diminished, struggling against invisible currents that blew, or sucked, it towards the psyker.

* * *

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It was raining gently in the afternoon when they reached the hastily fortified positions dug by Pol's and Freterik's platoon. Raindrops falling harmlessly on the umbrella Pyt held up for his captain. Seated on a native chair Tjitse looked around. Hundreds made themselves comfortable in the trenches for the divine spectacle. Most enjoyed a smoke or drink as they waited for the show. Hein looked chagrined, the extra 'water' flask he had acquired somewhere stayed in his pocket, rusting commissars…

Wazer sneezed, casting a jealous look at the umbrella. She felt miserable. During the past three days for every half decent thing this mudball had to offer there were two horrible things. Flucuating temperature, pressure, humidity, all sorts of creepy crawlers creating connotations of the warp in her mind. Shuddering she remembered the pale, translucent multi limbed _thing_ she found when waking up, quickly offering a prayer for the protection of her body. After a moment's hesitation she offered one for Dakovic too. In one of the Astropathic reports Stef had let her know that the pilot was too brain damaged. Yet the life that they saved would continue to serve the Emperor as a servitor. There was a sad beauty to it Wazer concluded. After another prayer she turned her attention to the task at hand, the real reason she was mudside with these Saints, inexplicably she had to coordinate Naval fire power.

The victim to be was a primitive and miserable looking excuse for a town. In all fairness all the other towns, villages and hamlets looked like crap to her, but this one particularly so. According to Eomund it was a trade town that linked Cragrop with Acrearres, the capital of Erep. The trading was in the past through. It refused to acknowledge Tjitse as king and the Emperor as their Lord and Master for some insane, possibly Chaotic, reason. The entire planet must have seen the new constellation in the night sky by now. All the other yokels in their crapholes had dropped on their knee's before Eomund or another native could explain to who and what they were swearing undying loyalty. On Tjitse's suggestion Ministorum adapts from the Navy were shuttled down to the larger towns in order to safe their souls whilst the Imperial acquis was established by the Munitorium and passed to the Administratum. It was an unusual move for the Navy to take, a change of course based on what they had found on the ground. She felt a strange hint of pride.

Eomund and Mar, with ample guard, returned from their last attempt with the town's elite. From the looks on their faces it didn't work. By the looks of things when they returned it was turned down. The Ministorum adept looked heartbroken but it was Eomund that caught Wazer's attention. Blank.

'They reject the Emperor.' Mar said with a sad voice, his broad shoulders slumping.

'Then they reject their existence. Sub-lieutenant, I hereby formally request naval assistance from the _Blazing Light_.' Tjitse's voice was flat, his face an impenetrable mask as he spoke the words that would obliterate a town of six thousand tainted souls.

'Acknowledged captain, relaying request to the _Blazing Light_.' Wazer checked to see if Tjitse had averted his eyes as she entered her code into the white data slate he held in his hand. For a moment his thumb hovered over the send rune and Wazer closed her eyes. She almost gagged as the message was send screaming across the immaterium, a feeling of _something_ opening and closing so fast she couldn't make sense of it.

Freterik ordered the air sirens to sound. The machine-spirits sang out, their voices, it was a warning, but not for the heretics. Everywhere around her Guardsmen and natives covered their eyes. Following suit Wazer put on her goggles and stared at the dead town. She'd never seen the dirtside perspective of an orbital lance strike before.

The non-occupied part of Osissis' mind perceived the Astropathic message being translated into machine language. It carried a familiar tone to it, one of his. Instinctively some of the artificers connected to this brain started searching the databanks as smoothly as his organic memory. Ah yes, Wazer, sub-lieutenant, female, thirty three standard. The chain of thought split in two as one half noticed and tracked the lapis blue reply coming from the _Blazing Light_. The final authorization for the exam came from the _Ophelia Ranger_. The inquisition was ultimately in control, him and Antsi were allowed to move the pawns but no more.

In the periphery of his mind he perceived the electromagnetic wavelength known as 'blue' erupting from the _Blazing Light_. Its power, as perceived by Osissis' extrahuman senses and filters, was minor. It did not fire in anger, merely annoyance, for more than a millisecond. Satisfied the _Blazing Light_ returned to its standard orbital position as if nothing had happened. In sympathy Osissis liquidated the relevant chains of thought and turned inward to his ship-body.

A pillar of light struck down, so bright she squinted despite the goggles. Half a second later the most violent sound in her life reverberated across her diaphragm, accompanied by a scorchingly hot blastwave powerful enough to make her stagger. Adrenaline surging she opened her eyes again. A fierce afterglow obscured her vision her skin seemingly sparkled. But what little she could see spoke of absolute devastation. And inferno was raging in the redhot indentation that once held… whatever the Throne dirthole was once called. Slowly, the hundreds of Imperial Guard troopers started cheering and whooping. Wazer simply stared in silence, face rigid, proud horror in her eyes, and then she sneezed. A few others, Tjitse included, followed suit.

'Guess the Navy can do something right from time to time.' Freterik added semi-grudgingly. Before anyone could react the back of 'Skulls'' hand connected with Freterik's face.

'Respect the Holy Fleet.' The commissar stated, the only thing discernable within the electronic sound was an impersonal authority which never doubted itself, before turning back to the crater.

* * *

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The two setting suns bathing the sky a spectacular red, turning the gas giants near the horizon into a blushing pink. The sweet fragrance of summer flowers mixed with the acrid smell of promethium in a familiar but all too rare bouquet. Much of the previous days and night had been spend working like ants to get the base in order. Some fierce storms hadn't helped but nothing the Guard couldn't shrug off. And now there would finally be some "real action" as some bastard from Sherxis said.

'…ity that we can't be there to be blessed by the Pontifex. Hopefully he brought saint Mariken's relic along. Not that we need it off course. These primitive heathens don't stand a chance. Your thoughts major?' Gerard pretended he didn't hear and kept looking through his magnocular with an impassive face. 'Major Stam?' Finally Gerard turned to the smiling Sherxian lieutenant. A smile which quickly faded under the Saint's stern gaze.

'I think that many thousands of savable humans will be lost due to a misplaced feeling of loyalty to their insane masters lieutenant. Ignorance might protect some of them; but these Heretics… Their damned, never knowing that it was Divine Will they were attempting to fight, never comprehending how horribly frakked they are. This joyous pilgrimage is turning into a 'joyous' massacre lieutenant. And don't even _think_ about replying with some clever maxim.' Gerard put the magnocular back to his eyes with a scowl. The Sherxian lieutenant coldly asked for permission to return to his company. Without bothering to look at the man permission was granted. Gerard kept his gaze at city # 1; it looked peaceful from the hilltop they were standing on, the entire mountain basking in the light of the suns. But he had read the reports. What had happened to the envoys before the Eternity Gate swung open before them. He gnashed his teeth in hate.

'Feeling fiercer than normal Gerard?' It was the perpetually mocking voice of Lotte, his lithe and good looking adjutant, though he was admittedly biased on the matter. He still ignored her. She didn't press the issue but simply waited for him to start ranting on his own. It took a few minutes but then it began.

'He thinks this is just some sort of great career building event. That the pyres of idiots are a great décor for a propaganda stunt, a prop to be used and discarded; rusting intern.' Lotte didn't ask who 'he' was.

'These are people, human beings who rightfully have a place within the Imperium, in noble service to the Emperor. But he doesn't care. To him their just stepping stones for the greater power and glory of the 'noble line' of Velden. And I don't care how "true to the Imperial ideal" his actions were at Sherxis, he's a monster. Genocide gambit my ass… I'm rambling aren't I?' Gerard looked embarrassed at Lotte, who was smiling softly.

'Yes but you needed it off your chest Gerard. And I'm sure even captain Velden would feel better. You did call his family line noble after all.' Lotte gave a reassuring smile and Gerard laughed out loud. 'Yeah he probably would.' They were silent for a minute.

'I don't trust him.'

'I know. It's the reason you've been maintaining contact with one of his cronies and why you've been pushing for the hardest commissar imaginable to replace Alex. Anyway…' She motioned towards the city. He was surprised by the change in conversation, not her intimate knowledge of his doings.

'There is no way to spin this, we're going to rip it fast and hard, file this city away like Lord General Antsi ordered. The tanks will shatter the outer walls within minutes, the city is to fall before dawn, severe 'enemy' casualties expected, minor friendly, mostly due to black on black, the price we will pay for taking the city in a hurry, in the dark. Some sort of Imperial regime will be put in place afterwards, the political maneuvering has already started. Oh and we're to keep a look out for any more fallen lasguns.' He was silent for a moment. 'THRONE! What's wrong with these native idiots, they _saw_ the lance strike, they know they can't win this.' Lotte looked ready to say something, Gerard had the uncanny feeling that it would be about the visit the colonel received, but the timer indicating the commencement of the operation went off in Lotte's pocket. Gerard was glad for that, he hated lying to her.

'It's about to begin.' She said matter-of-factly, Gerard merely nodded before turning his magnocular back towards the city. Moment ticked by before the timer chimed again. A heartbeat later Imperial armor began hammering away at the stone walls. By feudal standards the walls were thick and solidly build. By Imperial standards it was crap. High explosive rounds impacted against the stone, carving great wounds into it and causing sections to collapse. Dust and debris filled the air around city #1's perimeter. Gerard frowned, suddenly very worried.

'Silence.' Lotte and the rest of his staff looked at him confused, they hadn't said a word.

'Between the volleys, listen.'

'I don't hear anything.' Lotte said.

'Exactly; nothing.'

* * *

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Darkness was setting in by the time the poor frakking infantry was ready. The two companies provided by the 13th were positioned on the south eastern section of the city. Other than a few unchecked fires everything was dark. Unlike the night before not even a candle illuminated a household. It seemed to Gerard's darkest fears as if the darkness waited to grimly swallow them whole.

The Imperials found relieve in their loyal machine-spirits. Flares had been shot into the sky and dozens of floodlights had been erected around the city, hundreds of warmachines cast their glow around. Twelve thousand Imperial soldiers from different regiments anxiously awaited the surge.

A call into his microbead and the first few hundred were following Gerard. Cautiously they climbed the rubble heaps while others had taken firing positions. Ready to support their comrades at the first sign of danger with a withering hail of las shots. The Imperials were at their most vulnerable then, if the enemy was going to do some damage it would stand to reason it would happen there. Soon it became apparent that the only danger for the Imperials was loose debris. At least one trooper had already fallen and broken a leg.

And then they were in. The first hundred past the debris ran forward to secure the breach, Gerard among them. Taking position in a doorway while corporal Toon and trooper Ger entered the house. Gerard aimed down his meltagun, with underslung flashlight, in the infinitesimally small chance that something really nasty would pop up. The light casts stark shadows as he illuminated places that seemed to have been used until recently. He couldn't help but wonder about the families that once lived there, what had happened to them. Gerard chastised himself, he needed to stop frakking about and focus. Everything felt the way it was supposed to, nothing strange at all, nothing smelled like warpcraft, the only thing off was his own head.

Lotte took cover beside him and handed Gerard the vox horn.

'It's lieutenant Horst sir.'

'Horst it's me, Gerard.' His voice was soft but clear across the system.

'Major, I've successfully set up a command post in square #18, a perimeter has been established, scouts are moving ahead. No contact has been made, of any kind. In fact there is no sign of life, animals included.'

'Understood lieutenant, I'm coming over, out.' He looked at Lotte.

'Things are clear. Give the signal to the other platoons to cross over.'

'Yes sir.' Lotte took the vox horn and called each platoon. Gerard shouted into the empty house.

'Toon, Ger, status.' After a moment Toon called out.

'Clear sir.'

'Good, I'm heading over to Horst.'

'Yes sir.' Toon replied. Gerard tugged Lotte's sleeve and they were off, stealing a quick kiss on the way.

Lieutenant Horst's had set up shop in the square called #18 on his map. A small fruit tree stood in the middle, though he had forbidden anyone from eating from it. Lights had been hastily hung in the tree to provide illumination. A voxbank stood against one side of the courtyard while an unoccupied medicae station was set up on the other side. Horst turned his stocky frame to the major and saluting with a hand missing a middle finger and a digit of his pinky.

'As you were.' Gerard didn't have to ask.

'Nothing sir, at least nothing alive. The scouts have encountered some traps, nothing to dangerous if you're wearing flak armor. But we're not sure if its just native anti-burglary devices.' Gerard nodded, while Lotte made some notes on her wrist pad and Horst motioned at a map.

'Currently the troops are located here, here, here and here, and about to advance there and there. Platoons three till nine are coming over the rubble here in the next thirty minutes. Given the lack of resistance were deploying ahead of schedule sir.' Horst waited politely before speaking again. 'I do have some ideas how we can maximize our advantage, if you will allow me sir.' Gerard frowned slightly.

'No, Horst, nothing fancy this time, we don't need it and we'd probably just trip over our own shoes anyway. We follow orders and that's it. Don't forget to have someone check the rubble heap for the best way across. Slipping and falling will do more damage than the Heretics. Notify me if contact is made, any contact at all understood? Good, I'll be moving to the next square on the map.'

'Yes sir.' Horst saluted tersely. Gerard turned to Lotte.

'I'm deploying my command there so get two extra-' A flurry of messages arrived across the vox network from the other section commands. Resistance of sorts had been encountered. According to the jumbled reports small groups of warpainted natives appeared in previously cleared areas with a suicidal intent on killing.

'Throne take these heretics and make them rust.' Gerard hissed. 'Have the troops double check for tunnels, sewers, false walls, use flamers if you have to. These bastards can't just appear out of nowhere. And get the dogs.' Lotte's reply was cut short by a blood curling scream erupting from the stone house behind them. He pushed Lotte into cover and raised his meltagun, almost pulling the trigger. The scream was quickly followed by other signs of violence, flashes of blue light strobes across the wall from a window, the shadows giving brief glimpses of the struggle.

A quick thinking sergeant led four of his men into the house, battle hymns on their lips and flashlights on their rifles. Gerard grinded his teeth together as he waited. There were more las shots, and cries before one of them suddenly went silent.

'Medicae!' The sergeant cried out. Immediately the two medicaes ran forward. Blood spatters across his face the sergeant walked out of the doorway, bitterness written on his face. The native was dead and so was one of the Imperials, he was a real Saint now. Hopefully the other one would survive just a little while longer. Gerard offered a prayer for them both.

* * *

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Colonel Nuyen listened stoically to the vox traffic. Much had to be repeated. Interference was causing anomalies in the signal, parts fell away or seemed to distort into screaming. It wasn't relevant; the messages contained only a minor setback. The regiment had faced far worse before; city #1 would be purged and brought under Imperial control within hours. It was vital, though none safe the Inquisition knows exactly how vital. So general Antsi, nervous, eager, afraid and very determined, had arrived planetside with spiritual reinforcements and political enforcers in order to personally oversee the conquest. As of yet there had been no reason for him to get involved. Marks hoped it stayed that way. The section commanders hadn't encountered any 'real' resistance, just annoyances. But as the night inched forward, so did the Imperial advance, finding the enemy between the 'front' and 'rear' lines.

A curtain of unwholesome dread hovered over the Imperial lines, too strong to be blamed on the trickle of insidious attacks, traps and accidents. Marks gave a heartfelt prayer to the Emperor for protection.

Marks asked, and received, permission to go outside for a moment; fresh air was what he needed, and a new lho-stick. Never mind the humiliating fact he had to ask the rusting intern for it. Outside Homini Rex greeted his master enthusiastically. Ever since the infamous 'noodle' incident the dog wasn't allowed in command centers anymore. After lighting one up Marks scratched his loyal companion behind the ears, a tender smile on his lips. Looking up he could see the Pontifex, two servitors carrying his lappets, hurriedly making their way to the medicae section of the camp. Marks saluted but they didn't appear to notice him. The old colonel hoped they could provide comfort to the wounded and dying.

It was clear to him that the Enemy was targeting the human mind instead of its body, rightfully perceiving it as the weak spot. It was the only remotely viable strategy. But that's what the commissariat was for; they would literally whip the army forward.

'Poor petitioning frakkers.' He whispered into the cool night as he took another lungful. Mien and Heerman's companies had encountered negligible resistance from the natives in their region. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad. Meanwhile Tjitse waged a ruthless annexation campaign in the peninsula. And in the city Gerard coordinated the advance of his forces as skilled as ever. Casualties were noticeably less in his section than the rest; it wouldn't be enough for Gerard.

Throwing away the bud of his lho-stick Marks lit a new one, Homini seemed to glare disapprovingly at him. 'Oh shut up.' Homini promptly ignored his master's orders and barked. 'You know I could have the commissars put you down for that?' Another bark and the dog pushed his wet snout against Marks' hand. Smiling Marks lowered himself on one knee and hugged his old friend.

* * *

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Lotte lay on her back, only dimly aware of the cool, wet stone and her own tiredness. Now that she thought about it, why was she laying down? Throne, she needed to get up, though she didn't know why. She wanted to get up, but for some reason it didn't work. Her legs wouldn't move and some man kept pushing her down for some reason. Where did he even come from? She struggled to get up and ask him what his Throne damned problem was. Another man suddenly appeared and looked into her eyes. She stopped struggling. The eyes looked familiar, kind yet sad. She felt like she ought to know who he was, it was important. His lips moved for some reason, she had no idea why he would do such a thing. If only the ringing in her ears would stop she might be able to think. She wanted to ask him something but she did something wrong. The sound coming from her wasn't the sound she had wanted, how odd.

The man kept talking as he bends over and pushed her back down. She wanted to say something, it was important but she didn't know why, or even what it was. Instinctively she followed his gaze. When it went down to her lower body she couldn't see what he was looking at, the first man was blocking her view, he needed to get out of the way. Another man arrived and took over the place of the important man. He stood up and looked at her. He was important, very important, of that she was certain, but why? And now he was slowly being pulled away from her. For some reason his lips were moving again. Lotte cursed, or at least, she wanted to. She tried to get up again, to follow the man, to be near him, she needed to say something to him. But she couldn't, she was pushed down again, she tried to kick but it didn't happen, confused she looked down at her legs to see why they refused to work, the answer was simple; they weren't there.

And then she remembered pain, she also remembered who she was and what she wanted to tell him. She screamed, from pain and despair. She screamed for him, she needed to let him know. She was pregnant.

* * *

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Slow, too slow, inexplicably slow the Guard advanced through the booby trapped inner maze of city #1. Orbital maps or not. Attacking the shithole at night had been a good idea, emphasis on had. The city was quiet with no signs of any life, not even livestock. Rumbling engines quickly faded away only the all too frequent bouts of screams and gunfire seemingly coming from all around them.

Large buildings of rough basalt and wood stood on either side of the dirt road. Careful not to make a sound Gerard's squad jumped over the muddy open sewer in the middle of the street. A cul-de-sac; flashlights shone across the façade's of the buildings, their emptiness suspicious. Something Gerard sincerely hoped wasn't a community well in the middle of the cul-de-sac. With a curt order he ordered the Saints to secure the buildings.

Silently they advanced when Jantje dropped to a knee. The veterans reacted fasted, quickly taking cover with the rest following. Jantje gazed down the barrel of his lasgun.

'Gimme the boomstick.' He half whispered. The stick was passed and Jantje held it tight against flashlight of his lasgun. Keeping himself shielded as if he was carrying an incredibly dangerous weapon he prodded the boomstick against a possible trap. Nothing happened. A collective sigh of relief came over the Saints. Jantje handed the stick back to Pim, shrugging apologetically to the rest he was about to enter when the trap exploded. Immediately the Saints ripped away at the windows and doorways in the cul-de-sac. Among the flashes dry cracks and devastation Pim pulled the dazed Jantje away while Gerard fired into doorway. In between the flashes he didn't see anything but he kept firing anyway, feeling so angry. He gritted his teeth; it shouldn't be, it was wrong, it-

'Aaargh!' Gerard turned to the source of the noise, flashlight following. Ono had bent over the well to check it. Something had shot up, piercing the flesh of the lower jaw before getting stuck in the roof of the mouth. The pure reflex of screaming aggravating the wound as Ono fell back, clawing for the blade. Pim rushed forward while a thin figure sinuously emerged from the well. Immediately two Saints blasted him to literal pieces. There was a flash in one of the windows to Gerard's left followed by the unmistakable sound of a soloshot in between the dry cracks of the lasguns. With a small splash Pim fell face down into the mud, a real saint now. There was total silence for what couldn't have been more than a heartbeat but seemed like minutes.

'Rust in the warp you petitioning intern!' Gerard's rage contorted voice yelled as he stormed into the building, ripping away on full auto. He achieved little more than venting his emotions. The lights cast by the blue flashes had given Gerard a glimpse, a small one, but it was enough. He charged.

Running straight into two waiting soloshots. Gerard didn't even stagger under the kinetic impact of the double shot as he charged on. Carapace armor more than capable of stopping the hot lead. Simply screaming in rage he bodyslammed into the bewildered heretic, sending them both to the ground. The heretic raised his arms in defense until Gerard's knee repeatedly impacted with the man's groin. There was an explosion upstairs giving a faint illumination to the room Gerard was in. For less than a moment major Stam looked, truly looked, at the freshly disfigured face. A missing nose, scars on the cheeks and less identifiable mutilations on the temples. Black lines in blasphemous patterns crisscrossing around the eyes, mouth and nose slits. Screaming with a hate and strength he didn't know he possessed Gerard punched his victim in the face. There was a crack, audible even over the lasfire and shouts behind them. The heretics head slammed into the dirt floor and actually bounced, just in time for Gerard's next punch to connect. Blood squirted from the things wounds, the crimson liquid glowing black where it impacted the invisible markings in the house. But Gerard was far from satisfied though, one fist after another impacted upon the broken face, each punch and spray of blood only causing him to exalt in greater violence. _An incoherent scream of rage._

* * *

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She was…okay…? Yes, okay, the most appropriate word to describe oneself. Right? _Right._ Everything was going to be all right, everyone was going to be all right, whatever happens, everything was going to be all right. Good, I want everything to be all right. Instinctively she folded her arms over her stomach and opened her eyes, blinking once. The interior of the medical tent was messy and loaded with proof of its purpose, the visible portion of the human misery partly hidden by the spare lighting of a lone chemical lamp. The audible part revealed itself completely to her. They would be all right. Internally the throbbing pain of her legs was irrelevant, as was the pressure inside of her so she ignored it, she would be all right. _Right._

Her pupils widened as the clerics head moved in front of the lamp and she could make out his silhouette. Even though she couldn't see his face she knew he was smiling at her. She closed her eyes and turned her head away as the man continued. She was going to be all right, she was, she was, going to be all right. _Right_.

She could hear curtains being drawn back further down the tent. Followed by the muffled screams and thrashing of an unfortunate victim. She hoped that whoever it was would be all right. She was all right, everyone would be all right. She squeezed her belly tightly, everything was all right, whatever may come will come and everything will be all right. Right? _Right._

Then he came.

* * *

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Mark spat out a glob of sickly phlegm; the dirty taste in his mouth undiminished. With a scowl he turned back to his map. In his mind he was moving around the pieces arrayed upon it and more importantly the people they represented. The general may cling to his pre-contact battle plan but he could move around Antsi's idiocy. Oh yes, he could. Oh yes, he would. _Oh yes..._

In a previous life, in a previous Saintly regiment Marks had climbed his way out from the dog ranks to leader of the pack. But now he had the chance to claw himself upwards from that. He had been held back for so long by this wretched universe, but that would all change if he moved forward. Oh yes, everything would change if he would just do that. He had it all figured out. It was as if a switch had been turned and all his former restraint and humility had turned into determination and pride. He knew that was wrong, it was merely that those suppressed parts of him could now finally bloom. Oh yes. _Oh yes…_

Marks moved to a voxstation in the corner of the command center, turned some dials and waited for lieutenant Angdre. The commissars would 'object' so Marks timed his move while most were busy whipping the faltering lines forward. Afterwards there might be some uncomfortable moments but Marks was sure he could get out of that. At least he hoped so.

'Lieutenant Angdre, 84th Makov Artillery; remnant, speaking.' Angdre's voice came over the vox. Marks quickly gave him a set of coordinates for his siege engines. There was silence across the link but, just as Marks had hoped, lieutenant Angdre knew better than to question a far superior officer.

'Understood sir, we'll commence bombardment as soon as possible.'

'Good, the Emperor protects.' Marks cut the connection, breathing heavily, he really needed a smoke. _Oh yes…_

* * *

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Gerard pressed onwards winnowing streets shooting at every shadow, the rest of the universe forgotten. All the blood and souls followed him unquestioningly. They didn't dare too question him. The veterans had never seen Gerard like this, this enraged. Plunging forward without any care for cover Gerard raised his sidearm firing randomly into the encircling fire. Multicolored, with red, orange, blue and pink, as well as oddly alive the fire had been tormenting them every step of the way, or at least as far back as his mind could reach. Barely half his squad was still alive, he had no idea what happened to the rest or even who they were.

Like a squad of bloodthirsty dogs they followed the shots with their eyes. Somehow they all instinctively knew; the fire needed to die. Others brought their weapons to bear, managing to push the fire away. Where the bolts impacted, the fire twisted, mutated, until bursting like a boil, leaving a fist sized hollow in the fire.

One pool of semi solid fire waved and danced, its rushing roar mocking foolish Gerard who followed it further up the slope. Eyes wide in enraged indignation and grinding his teeth Gerard ran after it, he would not let it escape. He followed it down the road, the earth cracking where it slithered past. Jumping over an unburned wood fence he raised his pistol but missed. Charging past a burning outhouse the fire stopped and rose before flickering and turning in on itself, burning inward instead of outward. Screaming incoherently Gerard tried to pistol-whip the solidifying shape but only managed to scatter some chunks of fire and immolate his hand.

A mortar round impacted the outhouse, the shockwave almost killing the fire even as Gerard fell back, smoldering. Gerard blinked at this newest outrage before moving for the next kill. Through dirt and smoke he advanced, oblivious to the shrapnel impacting his flesh, uncaring of his hand of charred bone or that he was now all. It didn't matter to Gerard who continued his mad charge against everything. His incoherent scream of naked _rage echoing across mind, matter and warp. Beautiful and terrible it heralded a dawn to grieve._

* * *

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Pale faced, Lotte suddenly thrashed in pain, things were wrong, very wrong, she was not all right. Not all right at all, right? Sobbing she clutched her belly in despair. The orderlies stopped trying to load her into the ambulance. One tried to restrain her while the other checked her chart.

'Calm down dame, we can't move you if you behave like this. So tell us what's wrong.' A friendly faced orderly said.

'It hurts, it hurts so much.' She said between sobs.

'According to the chart she had a morphine shot in your left arm to deal with the pain.' The other orderly said, his dark skin contrasting with the white of his uniform.

'No, no, no…I didn't move but I could feel, it could feel it all…' Lotte said in a breaking voice, clutching herself tighter. 'No, NO, NOOO.' They looked at each other. They had seen enough addicts trying to get an extra fix but this seemed genuine enough. The friendly faced orderly quickly checked her arm for tract marks. Frowning he shook his head. The other orderly lifted the blanket covering Lotte to check her wounds. Revealing the cut up clothing, the lack of proper bandaging and the mixture of fluids leaking out of her.

They were aghast almost letting Lotte struggle up. The dark orderly grabbed a syringe of morphine struggling for only a moment to find a bloodstream. The other one whistled and motioned for three other medicaes who ran towards them. Crying Lotte started to struggle less as the medication took effect. Breathing heavily the three new arrivals were quickly informed. Cursing loudly two of them started to rebandage Lotte. The friendly faced one was on a voxline shouting at the horn. But two of them looked at each other and then the rest. Something passed between them, an agreement. The dark orderly and a newly arrived one stood up. Solemnly they pulled their las pistols and released the safety.

'Only the Emperor...' The dark one muttered under his breath as they ran back, weapons drawn.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Marks smiled though he struggled to contain it. Things would be different now. _Oh yes... _For him and his family. _Oh yes..._ The Saints and Gerard…son…things would change now. _Oh yes… _Together, he would…never finish his thought.

Blam!

Bits of brain stained the surrounding guardsmen. A grim faced commissar kicked Marks' corpse over before spitting on the stump, praying for the Emperor's intolerance on Marks' soul.

* * *

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There was something…

And then he groped for warmth. Finding it he basked in it for a length of time that was far too short. Along with the spreading warmth he became aware of discomfort, spatially arranged discomfort. Moved, he moved; as did the four extremities carrying the discomfort, moving for the warmth, trying to spread into it, around it, absorb it. He breathed inwards, there was a rush of sensations; the spreading of branches until there was a light in the dark and Tjitse opened his eyes.

Laying on his right side he groggily opened his eyes, finding himself curled around Wazer in the single bed of a feudal hovel. Arms wrapped around her chest with his left hand cupping a breast, his groin pressed against hers, only two thin layers of clothing separating their skin. Sleepily he raised his head from the pillow, making sure not to disturb Wazer, and contemplated the situation for a few heartbeats. Reddish sunlight filtered through the creaks in nigh horizontal beams, the still cool air carrying the scent of morning as exotic birds sang unknown songs. Sleeping gently her face was careless and relaxed, free of the tension sufficing it since the crash. Steadily breathing each inhalation increased the warmth in Tjitse's hand only to recede. Letting out a deep, quavering sigh he lay down beside her again. Pressing himself closer to her Tjitse's hand rubbed over Wazer's nipple, she did not appear to notice, and he placed his head in her neck, smelling her mix of strange flowers, sweat and the faint hint of _Steadfast's_ recycled air. Closing his eyes Tjitse's breathing fell into rhythm and he entered a dream he would never remember.

Incessant banging on the door drove the sleep from Tjitse. Raising himself from the bed he couldn't help but notice that he was in a far less compromising position than before.

'Who is it?' Tjitse demanded as he got up, using his cane for support while it felt like his head spun vertically.

'It's Koen, I'm here for both your treatments.' Even muffled by the door the mo sounded as cheery and sunny as he had been since the crash. Tjitse sat down at the edge of the bed, stifling a yawn and a cough.

'Come in, sunny.' Tjitse muttered the last part when 'Sunny' came in carrying his kitbag.

'Lovely weather isn't it?' Sunny smiled as he spoke. 'Early in the morning and it's already nice and warm.'

'Exquisite.' Said Wazer, to whom the ever changing environmentals were appalling. The sarcasm was lost on Sunny who continued smiling as he rummaged through his bag, finally pulling out two needles which Wazer eyed suspiciously. Grabbing a rough wooden stool Sunny took position between the two officers.

'This arm captain.' Sunny tapped Tjitse's left shoulder. Tjitse pulled up his sleeve as the doctor readied his needle. Koen blinked and tilted his head at a corner. 'Hey what's that?' Slightly worried Wazer looked at the corner, half expecting to see another slimy thing.

'Hey!' Wazer yelled as Sunny withdrew his needle. She looked ready to punch him.

'All done dame.' Sunny beamed down at her. If looks could kill… Tjitse hid his smile. He felt a small sting and rolled his sleeve down.

'You're a sneaky bastard Sunny.' Tjitse said dryly.

'I'll take that as a compliment captain.'

'Prognosis?' Tjitse asked as he helped himself up after trying out what muscles he could use.

'The cuts and bruises will fully heal in a few days. The ointments I proscribed will help with the pain. As for the pathogens, yes plural, are contained and should be healing when we file this execution away in another three days. It appears you contracted the chill strain and something native, probably the reason your skin slightly sparkles. The native bacteria aren't resistant to any counterbiotics, probably why you're still alive, so thank the Emperor that it wasn't some nasty virus. Good thing is that these petitioners aren't teaming up against you.' Tjitse nodded slightly, trying to contain his spinning head, but Wazer looked confused.

'Petitioners?' Wazer asked as Tjitse began to put on his uniform.

'Lower live forms leeching from and demanding from their betters and feeling proud of it dame Wazer.' For the first time Sunny's smile diminished. 'It comes from the Archenemy.' The medicae's smile finally disappeared as the last word was whispered. Wazer, being born on a military warship where the Archenemy was never more than a Gellar field away, was less than impressed.

'Ahhh.' She almost laughed at the man. Only stopped by a sudden regurgitation. As she dived for her bucket Sunny held her hair back.

'But don't worry, the Emperor protects, and I'm sure saint Mariken is paying attention as well. This mission to Undeb is holy after all.'

'The Emperor protects' Wazer said as she raised her head. Shivering she looked queasily at Sunny before vomiting again.

'So how is our commissar doing?' Tjitse asked for conversation.

'Pretty good, only minor allergic reaction so far. Still too early to tell about any native diseases.'

'And the physical injuries?' Tjitse inquired half heartedly. Sunny held back a chuckle.

'Sorry captain, you hardly laid a hand on her. Now the cadet, she looks almost as bad as you.' Wazer coughed between retches, Sunny patted her on the back. Tjitse paused; he had meant to refer to the cadet not the _real _Commissar.

'You don't happen to know her name do you?' He asked nonchalantly.

'They don't know. Their real names are sealed until they are elevated to full commissars.'

'Who told you that?'

'Oh Hope told me when I checked up on her.' Sunny replied, distracted by Wazer. Tjitse's heart almost skipped a beat, hiding his grin under a cough. Hope, really, who in this universe would could their child _Hope_.

'How are the regulars?' Tjitse asked as he checked himself in a mirror; not too bad was the conclusion. 'Oh and the natives, any sign of the epidemic yet?' Tjitse asked as an afterthought. Wazer had emptied her stomach but it appears nobody bothered to tell the organ.

'About 5% of the company shows signs of sickness, allergies etc. I got about a dozen rankers quarantined.' Sunny smiled and shrugged. 'It's within expected norms. As for the natives…Well, seeing as you managed to convince general Antsi to shuttle down priests of Terra and the Ministorum to liberated towns it should start soon enough. Total casualties will be lower for that very same reason though. For the whole of Undeb…' Sunny nonchelantly shrugged; without proper demographic data he could only guestimate. 'About twenty, give or take a million.' Sunny said in a slightly less cheery tone of voice as he examined Wazer's vomit. She had finally stopped throwing up and was now sobbing on the bed, muttering softly about righteous Hatred.

'Hmmm.' Tjitse put his cap on, gathered his strength and opened the wooden door.

Outside he took a deep breath of fresh air, it smelled like rain, flowers and boot polish. Two commissar cadets guarded the hovel. Cadets one and two, a man and a woman, no older then Dirk saluted him. Feeling his head spin, Tjitse simply grunted a reply.

'Sir. The Commissar wishes to see you, please come with us.' The woman spoke. Tjitse shook his head, something he really shouldn't have done.

'It's morning, my staff and I have work to do. We're expecting to reach 'Acrearres' today and perhaps get some information on these 'grotesques', mutants perhaps. When the time…'

'Your adjutant took over your tasks this morning to aid your recovery. Please come with us.' The woman said slightly forcefully. Tjitse knew that he didn't have a choice. So he kept the small degree of worry that he felt.

'Very well. Oh seeing as there're two of you one of you can have our buckets replaced and cleaned. Our mo will be far too busy for such things.'

'Yes sir.' There was a second long battle of gaze's between the two cadets which cadet two lost.

'Please follow me sir.' The woman said as the man reluctantly entered the hovel. Tjitse nodded and followed the cadet in a slow pace. Outside the air was pleasantly warm as Tjitse looked around as they walked in silence. He sensed the emanations coming from Leeg; a rite to bind the machine-spirits. After a few paces he could make out the Enginseer's mechandrites and red robes easily identifying the Enginseer.

Twelve meters further Lieve was preparing some soup and local vegetables. Seven soldiers from both Jan's and Julia's platoon, including Wil, were chatting and drinking caffeine. Casually Hein and Joris moved ever so naturally to obscure anything from the chem-stills. Anything that could draw the commissariats ire. Luckily she hadn't seen. Approaching them as an extra distraction Wil offered the cadet and Tjitse a cup. For a moment Tjitse was tempted but then the smell triggered a wave of barely contained nausea. Walking further through the wet grass in between two tents Tjitse saw Dirk kick a ball. Followed by laughter as it hits Red square in the face. Ewout seemed just about ready to jump in despite his leg.

Further along Mar and Piers walked through the rows of tents. Mar's features were hidden by the bluish incense coming from his gently swinging thurible. Piers blessed the soldiers that prostrated themselves before the Aquila in fluent High Gothic, and, in honor of saint Mariken's ancient advice, gave them all a whack on the head with a book.

Insects scurried en masse; leaving the relative safety of their shelters. Compelled. The sound of their chitin bodies moving against each other grew in volume, before shifting in tone and speed, depraved whispers hidden in a loathsome sound.

A few meters away Tjitse saw Pyt and the Commissar approach. The former carrying a dataslate and a cup of infusion, giving Tjitse a friendly nod. As Tjitse's faithful adjutant approached a flock of purple and green birds took to the sky. Wings struggling against the wind, singing songs that mutated and stuttered before bursting into brown flames. The smoke traced the names of damned sentience's into the air. Glorifying the coming, the mocking and the inevitable end of humanity, the withering and death of its enthroned spirit on Terra.

Tjitse tried to swallow but failed, the electrical signals never made it past his brainstem. Somehow he managed to twist his head around, he knew where to look even though every part of his sanity told him to look away; it was inevitably ignored.

All he could do was watch, and be, and be no more.

A point, a single one dimensional point in space; but not time. The edges of the realspace torus surrounding it flailed helplessly against the crack of Chaos. It did not approach, did not move, instead it forced the impotent laws of physics to twist and snap around it. Tjitse could see it, smell it, hear it, even touch it well before he should have been able to. It's chthonic darkness a veil by the universe to hide the oozing and spluttering cancerous growth of malignant energy that humiliated it, a rare mercy. It's all extinguishing silence only highlighted its mad laughter.

Shards of adamantium poison caressed Tjitse's neurons with each unnatural laugh. Seductive licks of hate, agony and the orgasmic annihilation of humanity, the mourning of its morning, and the morning of mourning. It tugged and pulled at every emotion his minute sapience could conceive, and many more that it couldn't. It promised, it lied.

Compelled but unable; to gouge out his eyes, to defecate virtue, to masturbate sin, to cry blood, to tear and rip his kin. Overwhelming was Tjitse's craving to crawl in naked terror beneath a dark embryo, writhing behind a translucent barrier. The mourning of morning would come.

As it drew ever closer Tjitse did not see, but was aware as men fell and writhed on the ground in their own body fluids. Cornelis' skull slowly cracked open vertically, tongues of tarry flame licking out. Trooper Asus' skin turned to puss as it bubbled upwards and his head imploded, something clawed to get out. What happened to cadet three was simply unexplainable. And yet there was no sound, only the stillness of oblivion surrounded them.

Only Mar and Piers managed to stand their ground against the daemon wind of Tzeentch; corrupter of dreams, jester of the masked, twister of the righteous. They showed Tjitse the one thing the corruption named Iiikhen'Tuh withheld; Faith unfailing, a prize to destroy and mock.

A bright light flared into being around the aging priest. It protected him for a thought, a shield of faith which lasted just long enough to be noticed. Mocking the feeble light the slave of Tzeentch engulfed the priest; it's dreams and hopes and soul. The unholy fire sprouted tentacles, suckers, talons, claws, hands and teeth where it _became_ Piers. Tjitse was aware of the horrible fate of each nerve bundle, each neuron, each organelle and each protein as it was warped in every unreal detail. Piers screamed and screamed and kept screaming long after he ceased to be.

After the time it took for Piers to suffer his fate, inevitable and thus eternal and immediate, the daemon expressed itself further. Stutteringly praying Mar brought sweet discord to the enfolding cacophony. For a moment Tjitse saw the grim determination on the young man's face as he swung his thurible in contempt. In response Iiikhen'Tuh folded and buckled the world until a terrible mocking engulfed Tjitse; and everything changed. Swirling damnation overwhelmed Mar and a terrible mocking washed over Tjitse. Where the vacuum hits it boils away into his soul. The shape formed words, of a sort. _Morning of mourning; mourning of morning._ Other, more blasphemous one's bubbled forth, lying and promising, showing the weakness named Tjitse everything; except for the one thing.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter ten**

_Redemption=death._

Equations of Faith

It was shaped like itself, its name its being; ever changing, ever apparent, ever lying.

On the mercy…

On the mercy…

Dozens of worlds spun around a triplet of stars but war raged in the heavens and the dragon of the void devoured much.

On the cruelty…

On the cruelty…

A few worlds spun around the surviving twins as two terrestrial species tacitly touched each other in fear over the ancient silver mausoleums.

On the triumph…

On the triumph…

The Fall's hindered echo reached the world and a chained refugee looked down across the veil as dust covered the forgotten brass and bone mausoleums and a whimpered laugh entered it.

On the desecration…

On the desecration…

Twinkling grey rain fell down and washed away the mutating blood droplets squeezing through before leaving their atavistic kin to the distant mocking after the pyrrhic moment.

On the healing…

On the healing…

Splinters of synthesis carried within thesis travelling through antithesis stumble upon the half forsaken den to replay a tragedy that will be.

On the lie made true…

On the truth made lie…

At the morning of mourning one of eight hyphae devoured and meandered across its manifest destiny as it pounced from priest to true Sai- _static…cats/nocats…(1+7)*50.5…_

On the fire beyond the Void...

On the forge on Holy Terra…

Choired by the cacophany of collapsing structures the mocking ceases in pain and erroneous treachery through imperceptions and yet another begins and ends in schadenfreud to the bitter enjoyment of the last laugh at the mourning of morning during the morning of mourning.

….

…_Great_…

Light in the darkness, though the latter persisted and assumed its rightful place as the newly unocculted twin of the former. Blue is the color. Sky blue. Birds tjilp merrily in his ears.

'What.' Blinking, confused he moved, and fell through the branches supporting him. Falling he remembered; too much. Everything was spinning; his very mind threatened to tear away. All the fragments of his being and the tenuous orbits that didn't revolve around him but was him threatened to be ejected into the welcoming utterdark. Just beyond his hearing, but not beyond his failing awareness he heard the most terrible roar as the winged daemon wind of Tzeentch, Iiikhen'Tuh was sucked to its doom. The lesser reaper had faltered where seven of its sibling-torturers had triumphed. Engorged they sacrificed the weaker one to fulfill the pact even as it futily sought to draw him in, a last scrap of energy, a final bid of vengeance for betrayed hope. A vast swirling storm of mutating fire, the pitch black eye at its center never blinking yet screaming its demands into his soul. But then the whirling cacophony was dispelled by a blazing choir orbiting a radiant explosion beating like a heart. Touching at the very edges of his soul the pieces of him reformed and restructured as the light entered the halls of his mind by the very act of perception. Upon landing ass first his ringing head dispelled most of it, like so many of his dreams.

Lying on his back in the moist moss, his head to the side he took deep, earthy, breaths of air. After an indeterminate amount of time he rolled over. Grabbing the tree from which he fell for support he raised himself to his knees. The fingers of his free hand tentatively ran over the smooth edges of his ablated chest armor. Touches the fringes of burned flesh there was pain, but it was dull and distant. Looking down there was a rough Aquila shaped burn on his chest.

Grabbing the tree with both arms he managed to stand. Panting he leaned against the trunk. Feeling his lungs inflate and deflate. Feeling the rough bark and the smooth moss under his fingers. Feeling the warmth on his skin. Feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Feeling the torrent of combatchems in his blood stream. Implants whispering every component and its percentages into his sizzling brain. As well as every other scrap of data before he started filtering.

His mind razor sharp, but fluttering and detached. Looking at his empty right hand he concluded that something was wrong. A moment later his cane fell down from the canopy amid some leaves, right into his open palm, the crystal skull's empty pits looking straight at him.

Tjitse was off, towards the sound of fighting only now truly heard.

* * *

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Osissis was displeased. The voices snaking through his cranial cables were displeased. Those honored crewmen who served within the inner sanctum of the _Steadfast_ were displeased. The _Steadfast_ literally radiated displeasure via fluctuations in its heat radiators. But to say that the inquisition onboard the _Ophelia Ranger _was displeased would be an understatement.

The Dark Gods had sanctioned a ritual on the surface of Undeb shooting out in eight directions from city #1. And now the ritual appeared to fall in on itself. He cursed at the muddwellers It's wasn't as if Osissis didn't sympathize. As ship's captain he was more aware of what horrors the warp could unleash upon humanity. But those muddwellers better not have provoked something that would screw with their warp current; they had a timetable dammit!

One of the whispers grew in intensity until it rose clearly above the mental cacophony of the _Steadfast's_ operation room. It came from the sensorium, beckoning him to devote more brainpower towards it. As Osissis focused his mind an automagic signal went to the implants of senior sensorium personnel, informing them that their captain required further devotion in their service. One of them approached Osissis nervously in his splendid gold and blue uniform. He knew what the captain was going to ask of him, and that he didn't know the answer to that question. The captain mentally pointed at his minds map, not bothering to acknowledge the lieutenant in any physical way.

'There. What happened there?' A moment later the _Ophelia Ranger_ demanded likewise.

* * *

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Running across wet grass through a steaming forest Tjitse's mind focused upon the details around him while up ahead he could feel the enemy like black wounds oozing into reality. Upon the native flowers opening up to the morning light, perhaps mourning the night when they were still closed up. Upon the beams of light falling through the leaves, upon the vapor rising from the forest floor, upon the patterns they made as they intersected.

As Tjitse ran a shaft of light hits him in the eye. Blinking once he focused upon the warm hum from his plasma pistol as he connected his datacord. Upon the texture and pattern of the writing on his cane as he grabbed it tightly. Upon the forest edge rapidly coming closer.

Nostrils flared, eyes wide and glanding everything he had left Tjitse took the plunge.

Circular rows of translucent teeth containing swirling poison opened up before him on an elongated horse head, the flesh splitting as it struggled to contain the feathers growing through, a tortured roar that chaffed his senses.

Electricity arced between its maw and Tjitse's cane as he hits it hard with a downward diagonal chop from right to left. The things fluffy feathers and fur burned, skin underneath bursting like bubbles where the electricity hits. Sheer kinetic energy shattering some of its teeth releasing the poison as acid burning away its own flesh even as it was forced down before the plasma pistol's muzzle. Firing a bright blue plasma bolt that vaporized the thing's head and splattered against the ground spraying its twisted hooves with flecks of expanding plasma Tjitse could feel the heat against his shins. Smoldering and thrashing the thing inside resisted as it slowly crumpled inward. Careful to stay out of its reach Tjitse quickly created some distance.

Quickly scanning his surroundings for any immediate danger he saw none that were about to eat him. Tjitse found himself at the lip of the shallow valley they had camped. Eighty meters away lay the fields of the now burning farm. Mostly obscured by billowing smoke Tjitse could still make out fighting Saints. Happy and smiling viciously he ran towards the burning hovel marking the edge of the Saints' perimeter. Trying to key his microbead only to find that he had lost his cap Tjitse scowled. He growled as ahead something raised a malformed head and squealed at him voraciously from two beaks, the third one, attached to a separate head, gobbled down an eyeball. The latter was eyeless while the former sprouted nine windows into the warp. Inside something terrible reached for him. Something familiar, loathsome, impotent and yet…mesmerizing; like whispered secrets and lies. With Tjitse distracted the thing went for his eyes. Throwing his reflex boosted body to the right Tjitse used the momentum to swing his cane to the left, intercepting the blind head's attack on his groin with his shaft. But it was the electricity arcing from the cane that saved both his eyesight as it caused the Warpbeast to spasm, missing him by millimeters. Falling on his side he fired his plasmapistol. Feeling the heat shoot up his arm as starmatter streaked towards the Archenemy spawn Tjitse's heart filled with vicious hope. To no avail. Suddenly two dimensional as the plasma hits the bird thing was unharmed. The instant after that its five multi faceted wings were flapping, its talon raised high. Tjitse rolled to his right, feeling his shoulder armor torn away, almost dislocating the joint while its seeing head pecked ferociously at his back, luckily missing any vital areas. Rolling further he was able to bring his cane up, smashing its blind head in a puff and a flash of blue. Raising himself upwards it seemed for a moment as if the Warpbeast's remaining head would peck out Tjitse's heart. Yet it wavered, giving Tjitse the chance to bring his pistol to bear again. Though this time he managed to burn away three wings the thing continued to attack Tjitse with its talon, cutting a deep gouge in his right hip even while its decapitated neck turned into a lamprey jaw. Kicking out his right leg he managed to push the thing back more than a meter, its remaining head missing him by centimeters. Pushing forward Tjitse both brought his cane down in an arc and fired his gun again. Plasma frying its remaining wings its head and neck went for his kneecaps. Striking it on its back Tjitse pushed the Warpbeast down where its attack grazed his armored shin even while the rest of it turned to translucent ash that smelled like burning fat. Breathing heavily he reached for his chest but felt nothing but dull pain rising above the chems.

Praying Tjitse started running again. After four meters he aimed his gun at gargoyle like beings flying through the smoke, their skins slowly shifting color in the blue spectrum. Hooting and baying in a bubbling, throaty way they circled above the fighting like loathsome vultures. Held at bay with intermittent las fire until one saw an opening and swooped for a victim, bloodied claws extended. The thought of not doing anything violent chemically excluded from him, Tjitse fired his pistol. First shot missing the second one tore through the wing of one of the things and it fell, tumbling from the sky, its back and side smoking and one wing scorched to the bone. Feeling the heat rising by the two shots Tjitse didn't waste any plasma as he jumped over a low fence of timbers and three meters further a small ditch against summer rainstorms around the ruined vegetable field. Tjitse slightly lowered himself for cover between the remaining plants, harvesting time was approaching he couldn't help but notice, as he aimed at the flyers.

Instead he noticed another threat, not to him but to his men. A chimera had its tracks damaged and its turret damaged, using his ocular implants he saw the claw marks. Leeg and his servitors were working to get them mobile while dozens of Saints fought to protect them. Amidst the crawling chaos three daemons posed the most threat even as the lesser one's fought the rank and file. Concentrated multilaser fire from _Prince Maurice_ and _Noble Chariot_ and burning promethium from _Iron Lion _ fought a blubbering twenty meter long worm with arm like appendages growing from it at bay even while the thing poured torrents of fire from its mutilated appendages, incinerating at least four infantry and two warpbeasts. Another one with nine bony stilt legs used them to rapidly delimb anyone within reach. Lead by the Commissar and followed by four cadets a dozen Saints formed a circle around it, whitling it down with las and bolt rounds while grenades and flames did some actual damage. But the third one; a tarlike growth of mouths and suckers on four wicked hooves and with multiformed tentacles reaching ten meters high threatened their rear. Equally in a bid to draw his men's attention he pulled the trigger. Only one of the flyers swooped down accidentally taking the blast of star matter to its torso, remaining limbs dissolving into evaporating ashes as they fell down. Feeling a spike of heat shoot into his wrist the temperamental plasma pistol was on the verge of overheating. In a feat of will he did the hardest thing; take his time when in a great hurry. Grinding his teeth, advancing slowly and taking careful aim at the large daemon he prayed to the Emperor for his gun's machine-spirit to cool down to safety. Focused intently a part of his mind kept pouring over details at lightning speed. At the cold sweat dripping down his brow over his flared nose, at the brightly colored sheets of toothed fire shimmering in and out of the veil of the immaterium; feeding like sharks at a bloodbath.

It took Tjitse a moment to realize he had fired; at the wounded gargoyle about to pounce on him. Stray plasma and daemon ichor igniting the moist produce.

'Fuck!' Tjitse yelled as he bolted forward, heat waving from his pistol, pain blocked by the combatchems. Cursed again as the daemon flock noticed went for him. Gripping his cane firmly Tjitse and the flyers met near the burning building. Evading the first one by making a quick roll he used the momentum for a downward swing at the second. Hitting its thigh the power cane sends the creature tumbling and smoking to the ground. A quick follow up to the third gargoyle failed as the thing deflected his blow and made deep cuts in his arm's unprotected flesh. The fourth gargoyle attacked and Tjitse barely blocked its claws while the third one tried to bite him but he jammed his hot gun in its mouth, buying some time. Behind him the first came at him snarling. Sidestepping to the left and bring his cane back in a downward arc he hits it on the head, smashing its skull in an eight pointed fracture with a small Aquila at the center. While securing his rear it came at the cost of being overwhelmed by three more charging gargoyles. Forced to the ground two gargoyles clawed at him while the other three circled him. Only kept alive for a few more seconds due to his armor he struggled with one using his cane while the other one was trying to eat his gun and arm. Firing, and scalding his hand as the weapon overheated, the other gargoyles flinched as their fellow's head exploded, covering them in bits and pieces. It gave him an opportunity to wrestle his cane free and create some room. For a moment Tjitse had hope. But then the other three piled in, ripping at his armor and the joints between them as he struggled to protect his face and neck. He was about to die.

_Great._

Streaks of multilaser fire cut overhead in deafening _cracks. _Ripping the gargoyles limb from limb it came within a twenty centimeters of hitting Tjitse. After a few moments the shooting stopped. Standing up, wiping off the worst of the daemon bits Tjitse turned around. Dirtied face splitting in a wide grin he opened his arms and ran forward.

'Nova, baby, you found me!' Tjitse said cooing as he hugged the heavy bolter next to the driver, inhaling the acrid promethium fumes and feeling the gentle engine vibrations, smiling. Sensing Thim glaring jealously at him he paid it no heed. Wil and five other Saints exited Nova and formed a perimeter around the hugging Tjitse. Sunny almost slapped him on the back before starting to check out his wounds. A faintly bemused Pyt and Wazer looked at Tjitse.

'All hail sir. I…we thought you worse than dead after the…the daemon _thing_ hit you l-like Piers.' Pyt sounded emotionally.

'The Emperor Protects the Faithful Pyt. Apparently I'm one of them. Now what's the situation because we need to move.' Tjitse said as he straightened his adjutant's armor. Pyt was about to reply but gasped when he saw Tjitse's chest wound. Sunny whistled as he saw the Aquila shaped burn and decisively led Tjitse into the Nova's hold.

'Leocolt, Joris help me strip this armor off.' Sunny ordered. The two troopers complied as the others covered their back when they entered Nova, Wazer visibly relieved.

'All hail-' Pyt spoke silently as he keyed his microbead to share the news of the captain's miraculous survival, then turning to Tjitse.

'Situation is bad but could be worse. Serf didn't get possessed so there's that. We've got at least twenty-five real Saints now. One chimera destroyed, three are being repaired so we can leave. Jan's Saints are…' Pyt's words were suddenly interrupted as the ramp had closed and Thim drove backwards, hard.

'Emperor protects captain; what happened to you?' Sunny said smiling as he pulled out the disinfectant while the other two threw Tjitse's ripped armor to the ground. Casually Tjitse inserted his datacord into Nova's artificers. Exloading the data from his bioaugmentations and giving them to Sunny; who stopped dead in his tracks and with wide eyes looked at the medicae information and then at Tjitse. But the latter didn't pay any attention, instead reaching behind his seat and pulling out a backup officer's cap which he put on.

'Pyt, you were saying?' Tjitse asked. Pyt was about to answer but then Thim made another emergency stop and everybody held on for dear life.

'Saint Octane protect us, if the Warp doesn't kill us the driver will.' Wil grumbled under his breath as the ramp opened again. Exiting, much to Sunny's ignored protests, with Pyt, the adjutant filled him in.

'Jan is being hit hard, but he's holding. Problem is we can't really use our heavier weaponry, we're to pack up. Which is why Sybrand is leading your command squad into the thick. Dirk's plasma gun is really filing them away. That's how we knew you were still alive, your plasma. Saved his life when you took out that daemon and drew away the rest.' Pyt said as he nodded at the naked, chanting Mar. Only ink, depicting divine scenes clothed him now, surrounded by four protective Saints keeping the Archenemy away. Perhaps unsteadily but Mar kept chanting the _Litany against the Warp_. Using his cap Tjitse quickly scanned around. Pyt hadn't been wrong in his assessment, just outdated. News of the captain's miraculous survival and saving of the priest's life was spreading quickly. Sensing morale surge upward Tjitse shuddered and smiled.

'Wazer get all the voxcasters you can find to run Piers' playlist, the one about saint Mariken, from the descent, make sure they're in sync. Wil, Sunny use your chems and pump him up. Just do it mo! Mar. Mar! Grab your eviscerator, switch to the _Litany of Hate_ and the _Catechism of Abjuration,_ get a shot from Wil and go kill that thing.' Tjitse said, pointing at the wickedly hoofed daemon. Expecting his orders to be carried out Tjitse turned from the ashen Wazer, grim Wil and the flabbergasted Mar to the slightly surprised yet relieved Pyt.

'Pyt have _Prince Maurice _ and _Red Marquis _the chimera's along the berry bush field pulled further in, yes a curved line. I want the centre three chimera's in the east too pull in further in a line, they'll form the rear, all centered around Leeg. Have Messen's scout sentinels move south-west, through the forest. If the enemy doesn't follow, double back and hit them in the rear. If they do, either crush them between us or draw them off, cutting through the forest and rendezvous with us at the river crossing. Dieuwke's armored will provide covering fire but stay and plug any holes in our formation. When we break out have _Face-eater _in the rearguard.' Before Tjitse had even finished Pyt keyed the orders to whoever needed to hear them. Tjitse prayed to the Emperor as he watched Wil and Sunny apply the, somewhat unsanctioned, combatchems, an open secret among the Guard, to the kneeling Mar. The boy's head pressed against the eviscerator's blindside as silent tears ran down his cheeks, feeling the Emperor Omnissiah's Will creep through his veins. Saint Mariken's psalms pounded from voxcasters as Mar stood up, revved the eviscerator and screamed from the top of his lungs.

'Blood for the Emperor! Souls for His Throne!' Mar yelled as he charged. Wil led the troopers in following him, supporting the giant priest. Raising his weapons Tjitse was about to join them but Pyt yanked him back by his collar. Suffocating he almost lost his balance. Indignantly turning around Tjitse pocked his cane against Pyt's bodyarmor.

'Adjutant, know your pla…fuck you both.' Sunny smiled apologetically as he withdrew the needle from Tjitse's shoulder.

'It will counteract some of the chems in your system.' Sunny smiled apologetically.

'Oke, oke. Lets get inside _Nova _ then, ill command via the vox.' Tjitse's tone was resigned.

'And this one will act as a counterbiotic.' Tjitse nodded absentmindedly until…

'Oh and this one as a counterviral.' Tjitse growled. Legs feeling unsteady he used his cane for support as Pyt and Sunny helped him back into Nova.

'That one was against infections, and this one is for the pain.'

'You look sparkling…' Tjitse told Wazer, at the time he thought it was just beads of sweat glistening. Her bloodless lips twitched as she closed _Nova's _ramp, pistol at the ready.

* * *

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(-+-)

'Blood for the Emperor, souls for his Throne. Die! Wraaaagh!' Mar yelled, muscles bulging, spittle flying from his mouth. That's not how the_ Litany of Hate _goes Wil thought disrespectfully. Weapon at the hip, on full auto and with bayonet he charged after the blood maddened priest, rushing past fighting Saints. To his left several fire teams from his platoon had bunkered down. Using the crops, fences and ditches as cover the infantry defended their turf from anything that got to close while a chimera ripped the tree line. To his right a pair of armored sentinels stemmed the encroaching shadows with their multilasers as around their legs Jan's infantry fought a desperate close quarters battle to prevent the pink horrors from breaking through. But it was the bloody daemon in front that mattered to Wil.

'Rip it!' And he opened fire from the hip. Following his example the other Saints opened fire. The _cracks_ drowning out saint Mariken in the background. Dozens of las shots streaked at the abomination most hit, some vanished. Dissipating the energy the tarry skin turned rigid, orange and cracked open. Teeth from its many blasphemous mouths shattered like shrapnel, impacting harmlessly against flak armor. Sensing the affront to its matterium shell it swooped three of its thick trunk appendages from right to left, its toothed suckers gurgling blood. Just able to twist his eviscerator aside Mar rammed its spinning adamantium teeth against the trunks, sending bits and pieces flying. Mar, putting every fiber of his muscles into it and with his bare feet scrapping across the ground, managed to keep standing. Two steps behind Mar the end a tentacle wrapped Henkie, the many suckers gorging on living flesh. Karl stabbed one and pulled at it, trying to force it to let the screaming Henkie go. Willem, Maarten, Johan and the others thrust their bayonets forward into its flank, blasting away the last energy in their clips at point blank range, to little effect except to Henkie the Emperor's Mercy.

'For Cor. For Asus. For the Saints. Of His victory.' Repeatedly slamming his bayonet into an orange wound Wil felt sick. Being near it was an attack on his senses. Wafting into his nostrils the odor that it spread was choleric but sweet like rotting feces in Hanze's abandoned sewage plants. There was a buzzing, a faint murmur trying to drown out the Litany and the psalms with something terrible. Behind its pulsing skin something writhed, something old, something looking at him and tugging at his sanity. Pulling his gun out to try and spear it on his bayonet he noticed that the metal was rapidly corroding, the barrel had even begun to sag. Pulling out a grenade he pulled the pin.

'All hail.' Wil snarled and jammed it into the orange wound using his worthless lasgun, leaving it stuck in there. Switching to his backup weapons the grenade exploded, sending the gun's remains flying and turning a large chunk orange. Meanwhile Mar, now chanting the _Litany of Hate_, had managed to chew through two of the tentacles and through most of the third, which now flailed wildly, almost hitting Willem. However the other two tentacles rolled back, almost completely enveloping Joris and Henkie. Desperately Karl tried to give them the Emperor's mercy, but he couldn't get through. Johan and Maarten had reloaded their lasguns and were now firing into the wounds carved by the Saints, almost excising one of its legs. Mar raised the whining eviscerator and brought it down in a might arc while singing of Hate and Faith. It carved through the daemons flank. This however brought its full wrath down upon the Saints. Bringing its other tentacles around it also used its bulk by charging forward several meters, crushing Willem underhoof, splattering him across the ground. Wil jumped to avoid a similar fate. Mar was shoved backwards but held his weapon firmly in place.

'Got your attention now you unclean bastard.' Backing up and firing his pistol Wil used his free hand to grab another grenade from his belt.

'Go back to the warp and suffer.' Wil shouted before pain shot through his right shoulder, pushing him aside. Involuntarily he has to let go of the grenade. The downward sweeping tentacle missing him by centimeters.

'Emprah, Emprah!' Eomund cried in broken Gothic, trying to use his shield to keep the tentacle down while hacking into it with his sword. Unfortunately it was too strong for Eomund and it quickly rose from the ground. Wrapping around the base of his shield, making crunching noises as it chewed through the wood. One of the suckers had gotten hold of Wil's grenade. Not thinking, merely acting, he reached for the pin. Too close, one of the suckers latched on to the side of his hand even as he grabbed the pin. Remembering what happened to Joris and Henkie Wil yanked his hand back, tearing a coin chunk from his hand.

'Back, back, now!' Wil motioned at Eomund with his pistol. Unsure, but still fighting, Eomund was reluctant to abandon his shield. As it explodes, cutting through the weakened appendage, the grenade sends shrapnel and ichor flying. Flak armor protecting him from the pieces hitting his leg Wil saw a shard cut Eomund across the face even while shield and armor contained the worst. But the native was still knocked back by the blast, saving his life as the tentacle wraps back, enveloping the shield. The daemon pushed forward again and Wil grabbed Eomund, ignoring his wounded hand.

'The Emperor protects.' Wil said as he quickly pulled Eomund out of the thing's path.

'Ave Imperator!' Mar thundered over the din of battle, finishing the Litany after having messily ripped through the thing using his eviscerator. Parts of the weapon glowed orange, faint smoke rising from it. The two parts of the daemon turned into rancid blue and orange sludge poisoning the soil it seeped into. Running down Mar's tattooed skin in rivets, leaving no trace of its rotten passing. Having the urge to scrub himself thoroughly and wash the sins from his gangtats Wil could merely scratch his arms and pray. Smiling Karl threw a thermite grenade, courtesy of the chem-stills, upon the sludge. Igniting it caused low purple flames to lick around its surface. Heavy, multicolored smoke billowed from it, forming strange patterns in defiance of the wind.

'What now?' Wil asked in awe, forgetting how he mocked the youth behind his back. Wild-eyed Mar blinked in confusion.

'Purge?' Mar replied deadpan, revving his eviscerator.

* * *

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(-+-)

'Cover fire! Mo, diagnose them. The rest of you, well done, you too native. Now form up, Tjitse wants us to relieve Jan.' Julia's cold voice ordered. One fireteam from the squad she led protected the medicae as she rushed to diagnose them. The second fireteam following her opened fire at the three pink daemons sneaking up. Rotund, with a single laughing maw dribbling saliva while the rest of their wretched body mutated. Growing and absorbing clawed appendages; the number, shape, nature and digits of the claws ever changing. The same was true of the horrors' eyes. Changing from ten milky white orbs to a smuttering of snake eyes in a blink. But they all laughed.

Three of the fireteam concentrated their fire in bursts on a single target. Two beams cut off one of its six limbs. A third beam turned the elbow of another one into fine red mist. A fourth exploded the claw from another limb. But as another four beams stitched across its torso it gave a last barking laugh before bursting into two blue mirror images.

'Emperor's balls, the frak is that warpcraft shit!?' Wil barked out, rapidly firing his laspistol. Julia shot him a cold even while the fourth member of the fireteam hits the second horror twice, to no avail, the beams passing through like thin air, much to its amusement.

'Mo?' Julia demanded of her medicae. The other Saints had started shooting as well, hitting one in its single large eye. In retaliation it blindly threw a handful of warpfire. Speed and trajectory divorced from the throw's energy, moving on its own accord, searching, hunting. Mar brought his eviscerator up to block it. Surprisingly solid, the warpfire pushed against the weapon before fizzling out.

'The Emperor protects.' Mar said solemnly. At which point the daemon fell down laughing, evading two shots. Strangely, the two blue daemons cried like little children, shoving each other around.

'Nothing that requires immediate treatment dame.' The woman calmly replied as she finished disinfecting Wil's hand.

'Good, team one, flame them and hold this position. The rest of you, we have the Emperor's work waiting. Form up.' Julia ordered, readying her own assault weapon, the potent but short ranged meltagun. Fireteam one looked at each other, but didn't protest, its flametrooper switching weapon while the rest took cover as best they could. The other Saints nervously reloaded their weapons and recited a prayer to the Emperor. Focusing on the melee in front of them, where horror and warpbeast fought savagely to tear down the three sentinels that contained them by blasting the wheat field in front. Wisps of eldritch power coalesced, bursting like soap bubbles upon the armor of the central one, taking chunks of plasteel with them back into the Warp, exposing machine organs to the daylight. Julia steeled herself. Cold sweat dripped down Julia's grim face, refusing to admit how shit scared she was to herself, her regiment, her family and above all her Emperor. Trusting fireteam one to secure her flank she was about to order the charge. Mar suddenly laughed out, drawing surprised looks from the Saints and Eomund but also confusing one of the Horror's; it disappeared in a poof of rainbow smoke before reappearing several meters to the side.

'Sing you Saints of His Victory. Sing what your soul sings to you!' Mar began to sing along the battle-psalms. As if a dark veil had been lifted from their minds the Saints became truly aware of the Emperor's flowing throughout the battle.

'All hail!-' Julia ordered as she charged forward.

'-The Saints of His Victory!' Came the reply. Behind her the roar of flamer wash, the _crack_ of lasguns, the scream of a real Saint and the crying and laughter of the unclean. Those sounds and the concerns that accompanied them disappeared into Julia's background, physically, mentally.

Running she could feel the blood pump in her ears, her heart beating in her chest, the air pushed out of her lungs, her feet pushing off the ground. Singing of glory she hardly heard the words, her entire world narrowing to what was in front of her. Thirteen unclean abominations fought twice that number of Saints led by Haak while thirteen real Saints rested on the wilting ground. Further ahead Jan, left neck, chin and jaw severely burned, reloaded his boltpistol, guarded by six Saints in a semi-circle against encroaching daemons, the smoldering pieces of his chimera in the rear. Julia knew; she had to move faster to achieve her objective, so she did.

Melta gun raised she ran forward, weaving past two guardsmen fighting an amphibian warpbeast. Uncaring and unknown to her Eomund joined the fray, distracting the entity while the Saints shot it repeatedly. Two meters in front of her a pink horror chewed through the lasgun thrust into its grinning maw. Pulling the trigger there was a loud hissing as moisture evaporated followed by a roar when the daemon was hit by the intense heat, forcing its constituent molecules to change beyond its immediate ability to counteract or absorb. Gasses coalescing into two distinct blue forms Julia ran straight between them, pulled forwards to her objective. The left one is bayoneted by Leocolt, the other snivels heartbreakingly and, using warpcraft, gives the Saint's skin some properties of fire. It doesn't kill him. That will be Karl granting the Emperor's mercy with a prayer. The Saint who had lost his gun grabbed his entrenching tool firmly, but burned, body and soul, as warpfire thrown across the field of rotting and burning wheat immolated him.

Julia didn't, couldn't, spare a thought. A gargoyle, moving low across the ground with raw, pink flesh growing in fresh cancerous lumps from ragged wings, snout covered in blood and feces snapped at her. Undeterred Julia discharged her gun in its gut, evaporating it and sending the rest howling into the warp just as its needle teeth were about to close around her face. Hardly feeling the first degree burns on her exposed skin she ran through the vaporized entity, at least its matterium part. To her left a grenade exploded, kicking up a dirt plume, shrapnel whizzing past her ankles, but clearing a path for her. Julia's drive pushed her on, unflinching. To her right a red faced Haak cleaved through an eight legged warpbeast using his entrenching tool. Its rear four legs tried to escape but the heatbeam from her melta slagged them. For a millisecond she coolly looked into Haak's eyes as he pulled his weapon from the host. Continuing on as he shouted something at him. She didn't really consider it important enough to hear. The central sentinel had Fallen. Cancerous metal growths had healed the holes made into it. Its armor turned insectoid there was a pulsing, deeply unsettling sheen over it. Metal groaning it twisted its rusting knees around, red multilas beams ripping across the platoon's right flank, missing their support sentinel by centimeters. Keeping her head low she ran between its entangled legs, pointing her weapon up, melting through its shell and the parasite within. Two meters ahead she vaporized a blue daemon just as it was about to throw a handful of warpfire into a shallow ditch. Jumping over a struggling Saint with a meter long centipede trying to get into his mouth a distant part of Julia's mind justified her with the thought that those still behind her were better suited to helping him. Landing she rolled and fired having spotted brightly colored movement from her left eye. A shimmering mass of toothed beaks, malformed birds legs and rainbow plumage, hit, just as Mar plunged his eviscerator into it. Just having enough time to blink in surprise Julia saw how, even on the fringe of the beam, it simply couldn't take the heat. Sending partially molten pieces of chain flying at high speeds through the air. One droplet hitting her left calve with enough force to pierce it, end to end, and enough heat to cauterize it, leaving a single, neat black hole.

Pain; shot up Julia's leg. Howling in pain she clawed at the grass before grabbing her calve. The sounds of battle grew clearer and yet paradoxically the more confusing as she was overwhelmed by the _cracks_ of lasweaponry, the roar of flamers, rumbling engines, screams, Tjitse's orders through the vox and wet ripping sounds accompanied by otherworldly laughter. Desperately her mind searched for its previous clarity. Over the noise the music reached a crescendo, stirring something in Julia's heart she fought to get up. Jaw clenched, pumping battery acid through her veins and sending spikes into her calve she almost passed out but she managed to get moving again. Through her tears she saw Jan surrounded with only two Saints left to protect him. The Commissar, wielding boltpistol and chainsword approached to relieve Jan from the other side, three surviving cadets and two Saints following. There was ethereal screaming and Julia's eyes automagically following Skull's gaze going upward and to her right. Blindly she fired her melta. Incinerating the left half of a ray entity that swooped down at Jan's group. But the other half crashed down, impaling a Saint on one of its horns, ripping off Jan's right arm at the elbow using half a maw before sliding across the ground, flailing its spiked tail around and slamming into a warpbeast. Jan fell to the ground as the Commissar fired bolt round after bolt round into the follow up creature, hurting it enough for it to miss Jan before it flew upwards, shimmering back into the warp.

Skidding to a halt Julia pressed her hand against Jan's stump, trying to stem the hemorrhaging, as the world spun around her, spots forming behind her eyeballs. Jan instinctively struggled as he went into shock. Startled, Julia felt a hand on her shoulder, like an electrical spark, stinging, but refreshing in a way. Almost bringing her weapon to bear she saw that it was Mar.

'Lieutenant, please, let me.' Dripping blood from his naked frame he gently lowered himself over Jan, pushing against the wound as he soothingly began the rites. Meanwhile the Commissar and entourage took position to guard them as Wil, Haak and Julia's mo, for the life of her she couldn't remember the woman's name, arrived as well. The latter joining Mar in treating Jan. Head spinning Julia used Wil to keep her balance, listening to the traffic across the vox. The Commissar approached, skull mask gleaming with blood and looked impassively at them.

'Orders lieutenant Karuzand?' The Commissar's emotionless voice demanded. Julia closed her eyes and prayed for guidance.

'Shape up this line it's a mess. Have first rank and second rank firing across the field. Tjitse is having the sentinels break out here, he wants supporting fire. And get ready to move out. I just heard over vox that Leeg started rites with the last chimera.' Julia ordered. 'It's not as if…' Julia started bitterly but held her tongue. They couldn't abandon the chimeras and leave dozens of Saints to suffer a fate worse than death. But they lost dozens holding the line while repairing the vehicles. '…you have your orders. Execute them.' Julia said coldly.

* * *

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(-+-)

Hitting the ground for the second time Meeskers almost gagged as the dust entered his nostrils. Opening his eyes he saw an ant atop a wilted leaf, its antenna searching the sky. Lying on the ground, looking at the ant Meeskers wasn't exactly sure why he did what he did. But climbing up the leg of the empty scout sentinel _Majestic Prowler_ he was sure what he was doing; get into the rusting thing and file away some petitioners into the dustiest archives of the warp!

Its previous occupant, Honno, dead, or worse, by a screaming ray daemon flying overhead, possessing three buzzsaw like jaws unevenly surrounding a swirling black hole in the middle of its body. Several barbed teeth, with tendon like cords attaching it to its jaws, shot out nine meters, impaling the Saint and reeling him in.

'But now-' Meeskers said as he swung his legs into the cockpit. '-the Emperor protects. Please.' He added softly, taking place in Honno's seat, wiping the blood from the instruments using his sleeve, most of them meaning nothing to him. Firmly placing his legs in the braces he felt its machine-spirit continuously probing his legs, ready to translate it into fine movement at the push of a button. Seeing as he was a novice, and didn't know which button, he kept to simply guiding the machine-spirit. Quickly placing the vox headset on he pushed both controlsticks forward, after the rest of its wing. Soft, rumbling purring came from behind Meeskers as the _Majestic_ _Prowler,_ metal joints squeaking, walked forward. Its machine-spirit spoke to him over the voxset.

'Reactor online. Auspex online. Weapons online. All systems nominal.'

'All hail.' Meeskers whispered, feeling his heart soar, _Majestic Prowler's _machine-spirit accepted him.

'_Fury_ to _Prowler_; are you an intern or something Honno? Purge the unclean.' Meeskers heard an unfamiliar voice talk sternly across the vox. Swallowing, he answered.

'Honno is a real Saint. Orders were to advance all sentinels, so I… I did.' He added quickly, seeing the black shape of the Commissar amid dozens of Saints, firing both boltpistols along volleys of lasgun fire. For four long seconds the link hissed silence louder than the fight.

'Confirmed _Majestic Prowler_. The Emperor protects.'

Having formed up in a skirmish line in the rear of Julia's ad hoc plug the sentinels advanced, waiting with firing until just behind the infantry to prevent black-on-black. Sixty Saints, weapons leveled, almost therapeutically, opened up. Hundreds of lasbeams stitched across the field and beyond to the treeline, wrecking what they hit.

Shredding sickened crops, sending smoldering leaves and stalks flying. Cutting the branches from bushes and trees or splintering them. The rapid _blam-blam-blam-blam_ of autocannon teams finally joined the fray, firing fat slugs that chopped and diced what it impacted, hammering trees to splinters. Fires, ignited by lasbeams, were starting as far as the treeline even as flamers opened up, purging everything they could reach in yellow flame. Enemy entities, the smart or cunning one's, kept down. Those that tried to flee or fight, whether with claw or warpcraft, or into blue twins, merely focused the Saintly fire. Only a few creatures hiding at the edges the treeline succeeded in scampering to safety.

Then the advancing scout sentinels, using their superior elevation to spot targets, opened up as well, magnifying the destruction. Lasbeams whipped between their legs, occasionally hitting a leg harmlessly. Multilasers raked the area, starting more fires. Lascannons exploding century old trees into burning splinters. Rockets streaked from their pods, leaving trails of thin smoke before blooming into explosions. One, hit by a lasbeam, exploded midfield, peppering the ground underneath with shrapnel. Clearing the infantry line the sentinels carrying heavy flamers roared, sending waves of burning promethium washing across the ground, incinerating anything caught. Impassively the sentinels walked through the fire. The half a dozen remaining Warp entities. Two blue daemons stood up sending mutating bolts at the sentinels, one missed, the other turned a voxpack into water, both exploded into chunks by autocannon shells. A gargoyle tried to fly into a scout sentinels open cockpit but it got hit five times before its constituent limbs were halfway.

Approaching the infantry line himself Meeskers could hear singing and music over the noise. Following the other sentinels he led _Majestic Prowler_ into the fire. Tears ran down his face. Both from the heat and the music reaching its climax. And as the last tones died down so too did the Saintly fire. They cheered.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

It's more intense than Sybrand anticipated, more than he remembered. His mind seemed cool but anxious, double edged, but the sharper for it. Fearing the caress of the Archenemy he prayed for protection, for himself, and mercy, for Sjourt. _Face-eater's_ corporal had snapped when the daemon wind surged through Piers and… Shaking his head to lose the train of thought Sybrand tried to distract himself. Going over the control panel he double checked it again. Making sure it all continued to work fine after Sjourt covered it in his brainmatter. Ewout held himself well. Contend at the machine-spirit's functioning Sybrand checked the, blessedly clear, comm. channel again for updates on the withdrawal.

'Armored sentinels are pushing ahead on the dirt road. Jan's platoon closely following.' Or at least what's left of it Sybrand thought grimly. 'The lieutenant himself is being treated in a chimera Leeg repaired, the _Auditor from Novter_, command of the platoon obviously defaulted to Haak.' Pyt replied rapidly.

'Confirmed Pyt, we're ready for the signal.' Poor interns, he'd rather have Tjeerd or Freterik on a bad day. Through the auspex he saw Julia's platoon scorching the field with their hull flamers, purging the contaminated area, denying it before pulling out. Closing the link he listened to what his squad was doing. Next to him a sweaty, pale faced Lieve nervously swiveled the hull mounted heavy flamer back and forth, continuously murmuring the _Litany of Protection_. Inside the turret Ewout, or Wulfbanes as they started calling him, took deep, measured breaths, like a predator ready to pounce. Outside he could hear the two plasmagunners talking to each other.

'Here look, these thermals won't fall below this second green level for the rest of the day no matter how often you use the standard vent. Don't worry it's just a quirk of the machine-spirit you didn't insult it. It's too well insulated.' Dirk tried to sound reassuring to Red as he taught a trick, he didn't succeed. 'The trick is to chant the _Catechism of the Machine_ and open this maintenance hatch, it will take a few minutes to open and close, so don't use it when you're in a hurry. But the airflow will carry the excess heat away in less than an hour as opposed to a day, giving you one more shot.' Red nodded, focusing upon Dirk's moves. Hein had died. Simply fell over dead. No wounds, no pain, no expression, just dead. The young dogs told themselves that their eyes were watery from the smoke as the Saints pulled out. So Red took over Wulfbanes' plasmagun until the latter's ankle would be healed and he'd get out of _Face-eater's _turret. Secretly; Dirk was already planning new nicknames for Ewout.

'Yes Dirk, but given that we're not out the woods yet you should wait. They've kept quiet after the counter-attack but the Unclean are cunning fraks; probably waiting until we're all moving to chase after us. So don't fuck around with the rusting plasmagun.' Sybrand said from within the banewolf, wondering how the interns even survived the scuffle at Sherxis.

'Yes sir.' Red said apologetically.

'Yes sir.' Dirk replied three seconds later, probably closing his own maintenance hatch. For a few moments they kept quiet. Watching as the last chimeras churned by, waiting for their own signal to move.

'Pyt to Sybrand, your turn now, over.'

'This is Sybrand, confirmed.' Static as Pyt closed the link. Sybrand stuck his head out so Dirk and Red could hear him clearly.

'Get in, we're moving, now!' Red jumped in, quickly squeezing past Wulfbanes. Dirk glanced around before following suit. It was tight inside, but they managed. With everybody inside Ewout quickly closed the hatch as Sybrand slowly accelerated away.

'Hatch secure, chems won't get in now.'

'Good, waiting for the second signal.' Sybrand replied, watching the area feed, fidgeting with the controls. _Nova Ignis_ drove just past them, falling in with the rear of Julia's column, while three chimeras drove backwards, flamers belching, covering their former encampment in flames, burning away any Unclean taint. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. More than two decades of harsh experience in the Guard had washed it out. So what was different this time? Auditing his grizzled soul he felt the feeling pass, even his mind seemed to clear. Grimacing, the veteran counted himself protected and quickly prayed. Seeing the remaining three chimeras quickly peel off Sybrand put the pedal to the metal before hearing Pyt over the vox.

'Let her rip Wulfy…shut up Dirk.' Sybrand, following the rear chimeras, added before the latter could be witty.

'Yes sir.' Wulfbanes said smiling, squeezing the trigger for a few seconds as he kept an eye on airflow using the smoke. _Face-eater's_ chemcannon pumped out highly toxic gasses, leaving clouds of death in their tail. Red and Dirk nervously eyed the piping running through the banewolf's interior, the latter patting it reassuringly.

'This is _Face-eater _we're on the move, covering our butts, about to reach the rear and take our position in back.' Sybrand said over the vox. Behind him he could hear Dirk struggle to keep his mouth shut. Pushing the engine to catch up with the Saint's rear Sybrand looked at the auspex for signs of activity and to better make out his own. The mechanized platoons were kicking up a dust cloud.

'Agh Dirk! Too nasty man, too nasty.' Wulfbanes said from his turret position, pushing a hand down and quickly waving the air around.

'It wasn't me!' Dirk replied quickly. They all snickered silently, except for Red, whose face turned even redder.

'Dirk!' Wulfbanes cried out for real now. Lieve and Sybrand gasped.

'It wasn't me!' Dirk repeated, pinching his nose as he searched for the real culprit. It didn't take him long to figure it out, Red's color gave him away.

'It wasn't me, it was Red. Tell them Red, tell them.'

'All right, all right, I did it. _Mea culpa_.' He apologetically added in High Gothic. Dirk looked satisfied until Lieve, feeling better, prodded.

'Red you shouldn't take responsibility for Dirk.'

'Yeah, not very Saintly of you Dirk.' Wulfbanes added quickly.

'The fuck!?' Dirk cried indignantly, giving Red an accusatory look. But the barely restrained sounds of laughter coming from the rest quickly gave them away.

'Oh rust you, and you too, you…you…' Dirk turned a shade of red as the rest laughed away. 'Well Hein help me ou…' Dirk turned quiet and the laughter died down abruptly. In silence the _Face-eater_ drove on as behind them the forest burned.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter eleven**

_Suffer and be saved_

Torture-technician maxim.

Dozens of minor cuts and contusions. Nine lacerations and puncture wounds sealed with medglue. Two diseases plaguing him, one unknown to medicae science, and enough meds for a horse. Plus one Aquila shaped burn on his chest, properly debrided of course, from an overloaded refractor field. A bucket had strategically been placed between his feet. Tjitse felt like crap and Thim's maniacal driving made it worse. Every bump and hole sending a wave of nausea and pain through his battered and bandaged body, even his exquisite chair offered little solace. But the pain was good, it kept his mind sharp and awake, so Sunny applied only minor analgesics. The good news was, as Sunny, smiling annoyingly, told him that he'll live, with some R&R. Tjitse almost laughed, but it hurts too much. When Sunny moved to his next patient _Nova _jumped, almost slamming the mo into the rear hatch. The chains wrapped around Serf jingled but kept it kept upright. There had been a short but heated debate about whether to chain him to the armor or not. As a compromise a melta charge had been taped to its head. Tjitse weakly motioned Pyt from his voxsystem.

'All hail, Pyt, do we…' Tjitse began weakly before painfully coughing. Pyt hurriedly unscrewed his flask offering it to Tjitse who gratefully accepted and took a careful sip. It was lukewarm, but his stomach protested little and it soothed his throat. Taking a deep breath he sat up straighter and tried again. 'Pyt, give me a sitrep. Any casualty reports from Haak yet?' Without looking on his slate the adjutant answered.

'Two chimeras and three sentinels are with the Emperor Omnissiah now. Jan is suffering from severe burns and loss of limb inside the _Auditor from Novter_. If Julia had shot that the daemon a heartbeat later he'd be dead. As it is, his mo thinks that if he survives this trip he'll live.' Pyt said upbeat before continuing gravely. 'We have seventeen wounded and…and 58 unaccounted Saints-' The Commissar cut Pyt off.

'They are dead, perhaps judged by the Emperor beyond the Eternity Gate. Or…not.' It was a statement followed by silence. 'Write them off.'

'Uh, yes Commissar. So we…uh have 58 real Saints then. 47 of them from Jan's platoon, they were almost cut in half.'

'59.' Sunny half whispered, smiling mysteriously as he disinfected a cut on Eomund's shield arm. With a thousand yard stare the native firmly clasped an Aquila in his free hand. The Commissar however had overheard Sunny.

'You have a different number medicae?' Sunny's smile virtually evaporated. He looked caught, like a bunny in a Leman Russ's headlights, but then his eyes turned hard as he looked the Commissar in the eye, then Tjitse, and then the Commissar again, seemingly making a decision. Grabbing a dataslate he gave it to the Commissar. A spark of recognition told Tjitse it was the one he had given to Sunny… with his medicae data. Eyebrow raised Pyt tried to read over the Commissar's shoulder. The political officer turned rigid, some slight movements of the head and hand. But it was all the information Tjitse needed to piece things together.

Mouth turning dry he selected the ice water rune on his blue box. The machine whirred and clicked as Pyt took over the dataslate. Grabbing his drink with trembling hand Tjitse turned to the Commissar, skull mask looking intently at him. Expectation, plus nuances.

'I apologize. I should have offered you a refreshment earlier.' Taking a refreshing sip Tjitse could feel the Commissar tightening up. Impatient, focused. Pyt's jaw dropped.

'You died!?' Which grabbed everyone's attention. The stoic cadets tried to get a better look at him, and the blood soaked, nigh catatonic Mar looked up, eyes slightly focused, lips moving silently.

'Apparently. But the Emperor protects.' Tjitse said dryly, trying to keep his mind firmly away from the tattered memories, but scraps slipped through his mental fingers, he threw up a bit in his mouth. 'How long?' He asked, swallowing the bile, sitting up straighter, hiding the shudder running down his traumatized spine. For the effort he ended up coughing, hand reaching for his bandaged chest, sending a wave of scorching hot pain.

'One minute, so there may not be any irreparable brain damage, Emperor willing.' Sunny replied matter-of-factly, which made Tjitse smile despite the situation.

'We have higher priorities.' Tjitse started.

'You were martyred, you were Sainted.' Mar said surprising Tjitse who quickly recovered and ignored his new priest.

'Link up with the scouts and make sure nothing is about to bite us in the ass. Reestablish contact with the regiment and orbit, save Erep from the warp. Oh and mine it for francium. So get me an accurate report on losses, men and material.' He looked at Pyt before looking at Sunny. 'And get him back on his feet. We need the spiritual support.' Tjitse nodded at the twitching Mar. 'Which means that until I want you on the vox to maintain morale and cohesion, especially Jan's platoon.' Tjitse burrowed his eyes into the Commissar's, putting his will behind it and so curtailed any further questioning. Once the Commissar saluted the rest meekly obeyed.

Breathing heavily Tjitse slumped back into his seat, the exertion of energy had been great. Head pounding he gulped down the refreshing water, savoring. Remembering to take his fluids he refilled it, holding the cold glass to forehead before taking a sip. He frowned, feeling suddenly worried.

'And make sure everyone keeps their guard up. We're not out of the woods yet.' After giving the warning Tjitse slumped back in his chair, drained of energy. Slowly he placed his glass to his lips, taking short sips to keep his nausea down as the column drove one. Placing the empty cup back into his machine Tjitse closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. His battered body felt absolutely exhausted. But he knew he couldn't sleep. His mind was still propped up tightly. It would be hours before he could get some sleep. Crawl into bed, nice and warm…with Wazer. He looked at her. She sat near the ramp, bend forward, holding her head in her hands and with her elbows on her knees, bucket between her legs. Sweaty strands of hair hanging loosely from her scalp, framing glassy bloodshot eyes. Skin seemingly sparkling in the sparse light. Tjitse shuddered. At first he thought beads of sweat but on second glance her skin seemed to actually sparkle. Frowning, he looked more closely at his own skin, seeing tiny sparkling flecks. Horrified, Tjitse tried to wipe them off, failing that, he threw up in his own bucket. _I look like a mutant!_

'A symptom of the native disease, not entirely sure what causes it but it might be crystals forming inside infected skin cells. The Emperor's healing grace should be enough to purge your body from it.' Sunny smiled reassuringly. Small consolation for Tjitse, who felt like a disgusting mutant freak. Reaching for another glass of cold water he accidentally pressed the rune for soup. The thought of which made him vomit again. Sunny corrected Tjitse's mistake, cheerfully offering him the water he seemed ready to start again. Tjitse however seemed ready to bash his head in. Not wanting to upset his patient the mo quickly took a seat beside the two cadets and tried to start a conversation. Tjitse simply sat back and let the others do their job.

'We've got signals on auspex!' Thim said from the driver seat. _Great_. Tension aboard_ Nova _soared. Using his datacord Tjitse directly viewed the information. The road they were travelling on curved left, around a wide, heavily forested hill with a ruined tower at the top. A kilometer further the forest transited into woody plains. But now at least a dozen signals rapidly advanced down upon them. Visual blurs, heat, movement and a vague electrical field, but nothing overlapped.

'I think they might be hostile captain.' Thim added. Tjitse rolled his eyes and sighed.

'Open fire.' He ordered tersely but superfluously as the column did just that with their multilas turrets and fixed lasguns emplacements along their left flank. Inside _Nova_ it was the the three cadets and Eomund that grabbed the lasguns. Inside his turret Klaas cursed the daemons which such vehemence that the Commissar looked up.

Blisteringly furious, almost blind, the Saintly salvo's cut down much of the woodland. But amidst the devastation it was hard to identify the effect upon anything other than the native flora. Checking his auspex Tjitse couldn't get any clear information. Only the vague direction of the attack. Well, attack... Tjitse was convinced when the auspex revealed vague signals on the right side of the road, he knew it wasn't ghosting. Trying to speak he was tongue-tied, frozen in his chair, jaw clenched. Eyes widened in terror Tjitse braced himself.

A high piercing shriek erupted from the woodland, going straight through the chimera's armor, assaulting senses. _Nova Ignis_ swerved as Thim lost and regained control without much trouble. Mar, slightly more lucid, blinked confused at what was happening.

'Right flank, right flank.' Tjitse ordered across the haphazard vox connection. Along the right side of the road nine shadowy riders raced between the trees, hellhounds running alongside them. Somehow both of them kept up with the chimeras while their illusions on the other side of the road disappeared. Erupting between the transports before the turrets could swivel around.

'I can't shoot, they're hugging the ramps, it's gonna be black on black if I do.' Klaas called from his turret. Vox reports from the other chimeras agreed with him.

Two malevolent red pinpricks the only light about them. Their steeds were as dark as their masters whose frames are wrapped in smoky darkness. Only the hands were visible, encased in rusting armor, while gripping equally rusty weapons. Tjitse could make out a halberd, swords, spears, maces and axes. Between their legs Warp beasts leaped, snapping at threads and gun barrels. Most were vaguely canine or at least animalistic, others not even close. All were monstrous. Galloping behind their prey the nine riders reached out, touching the ramps. Rust rot spread quickly across the metal in slow ripples, buckling inward. By now the fixed lasguns were all manned and firing rapidly as was vox traffic. Blue lasbeams criss-crossed between the transports. Many harmlessly dissipated against the ground or plasteel armor. But some dumped their energy into the abominations. Losing limbs hardly slowed the infernal beasts down; only a few died or were crushed beneath treads. The smoky essence of the riders' bodies curled around the beams as they passed through, though three reacted as if stung, halting their warpcraft. Another banshee shriek ripped through the Saints. Erratically swerving many of the chimeras managed to break off contact with the riders. Both Wazer and Tjitse threw up again, covering the interior. The former sobbing, the latter feeling confused, the unnatural sound pushing coherent thought from him, leaving behind a dull hollow pit. It was the years of training at the Scholam Militant that snapped Tjitse out of it. He needed to start somewhere; the rest would come naturally as his brain reconnected.

'Haak! When the frak are we getting out of these woods? Strung out like this we're vulnerable.' Thinking about his forces Tjitse opens another channel without waiting for Haak's reply. 'Armored sentinels turn around in a line, I repeat, armored sentinels turn around in a line. We're under attack and need assistance; I say again we're under attack.' While a garbled reply arrived over the vox the notion of attack sparked a thought just as Haak gruffly replied.

'It's clearing up roughly a quarter klick ahead.' Tjitse quickly added Julia, who had actually been listening in, to the channel.

'Once we're in the clear; Haak take your platoon to the right, Julia the left, then advance in parallel, keeping no more than 50 meters apart.' As his officers executed his orders Tjitse could see three of the ramps crumbling into rust, failing under the otherworldly assault from the riders, the beasts trampled each other for the best position.

Right in front of _Nova, _damaged by the rider's warpcraft, holes appeared in _Noble Ant III_'s ramp. Krelis, flamer in Maxim's squad's flamer, kept his cool. Sticking his weapon's nozzle through he pulled the trigger; incinerating the Unclean while reciting the Incantation of Purging. Screeching horribly the rider struck out with its axe, shattering what remained of the ramp. The molten bundle of contaminated flesh and lingering corruption pulped underneath _Nova's _treads. As the corruption unevenly sagged Tjitse felt something leave, something that dragged a poisoned fingernail down his spine, whispering lies and promises as it descended. He threw up again even as beasts from other packs leaped for the opening in _Noble Ant_'s armor, snatching Krelis. The rest of his squad presented bayonet into the opening, engaging in desperate close quarter combat against the soul predators which only half survived. Meanwhile another afflicted chimera, the _Parent of Protection_, desperately tried to shake its pursuing aggressors while the other chimeras protected it with concentrated lasgun fire, pushing back the Warp rider from making more than a second long contact. Wiping the bile away with his right sleeve Tjitse couldn't help but respect his Saints more and more; they were keeping their heads cool and staying disciplined under immense pressure.

'This is the _Auditor_; we need help. I can't maneuver without killing Jan and the daemons are almost through!' The message grabbed Tjitse's attention over all the other vox traffic. Tjitse quickly found the chimera further up the column, just as Haak's platoon fully moved into the clearing, turning to the right, obscuring visual. It really was Haak's platoon Tjitse realized, there was nothing anyone could do for Jan now.

'Emperor protects.' Pyt, having heard as well, whispered beneath his breath.

'On our way! You're gonna be fine _Auditor_.' Julia desperately promised and lied. The _Auditor_ was being swarmed by three riders and packs, armor crumbling into dust.

'Grant them the Emperor's Mercy.' A calm and steady voice said; Tjitse was slightly surprised to find out it was his. For a moment there was no reaction as the entire hold looked at him. But the _Prince Maurice _and _War Plow_ had heard. Gunners reciting the Oath of the Emperor's Mercy even as their weapons spat it out. The multitude of hungry Warp beasts were diced before being crushed undertread. One beam missed but the second one impacted a rider; its smoky body exploded in a poof, unable to reassemble, its caustic wisps pushed too far away. Its raspy death cry lingered, grating them. Another instead imploded inwards, darkness apparently attempting to extinguish the light, its silence muffled the roar of hot engines nearby. At first it appeared it as if the third rider might escape. Two beams missing him by a hairs breadth, a third one shattering its scythe arm into fragments. But the _Auditor_ had not gone unharmed. Two beams hitting its left track sending partially molten fragments flying, resulting spalling to the brainstem quickly killing a patient. A beam pierced straight through its turret, exploding the gunner inside into steaming chunks. One beam burned through the tainted metal of the ramp, seared through the hold and lower body of Jan's mo, hitting the driver's dashboard, exploding it in his face. The second beam ignited the front heavy bolter's ammo supply followed swiftly by the third beam igniting the energy packs and promethium tanks. Exploding, the _Auditor from Novter_ engulfed the remaining abominations. Observing every horrid detail through his link Tjitse forced himself to stay calm. Jan's burned and mutilated flew through the air, propelled by the explosion that ripped off two more limbs. His blackened flesh staying alive just long enough for a screaming sky-shark to pluck him from mid-air. Toothed feeding tendrils piercing his torso as it began to devour him body and soul. Its ravenous need momentarily diminished it heeded the warning signs of dangerous time-paths and shimmered back into the Warp. _Auditor's_ burning corpse rolled to a stop nine meters further, billowing thick black smoke.

The Saints were in shock, vox chatter ceasing abruptly, though it did not prevent the two platoons from executing their orders. Forming up into two parallel lines they forced the remaining riders to split up as well, three for each platoon. Virtually by accident, _Nova Ignis, Face-eater _and _Maintenance Support VIII_, found themselves driving straight forward, in between the advancing lines, by virtue of not being in either platoon.

The heavily damaged _Noble Ant _and _Parent of Protection_ were protected fiercely. Understanding Tjitse's plan the transports turned their turrets inward, gunners carefully taking aim at the Archenemy chasing their fellows, but holding fire. Separating the entangled mess amidst the forest and seeing his Saints adapt and understand gave Tjitse a mental breather. He blinked and then grinned wolfishly, opening a vox link to all chimeras.

'Drive over them. A chimera drives behind one being chased by the daemons. The front chimera brakes, the rear one splatters the Archenemy. The front chimera determines the distance and who and when tails them. On your own initiative Saints.' Semi-contend Tjitse leaned back in his chair, listening to the confirmations. Cheerfully Sunny gave Tjitse the thumbs up while Pyt simply grinned and looked out. Thim and Klaas laughed. The Commissar looked appraisingly at Tjitse who tried to triumphantly twirl his cane but fumbled with his weakened fingers.

Outside the remnants of the two platoons took to the idea with relish. Within seconds three beleaguered chimeras skidded to an abrupt halt in quick succession, warp riders smacking face first into it, pinprick eyes suddenly flaring bright. Otherworldly bodies behaving somewhat liquid or gaseous in the way it impacted. A millisecond afterward the beasts pilled into its rear, non-flattened parts bulging outwards, red eyes burning hotter than thermite. When the chaser chimeras slammed into them the mass of Warptaint splattered apart. Translucent internal foulness sprayed five meters sideways while the riders' heads exploded like fireworks. Tjitse simply felt the cheers and laughter erupting from all the Saints. Screeching the three remaining riders narrowly managed to avoid similar fates, though _War Plow_ dented and jammed _Red Marquis' _ramp in a brave attempt, only crushing a single warp beast. Moving inwards the riders were safe from being squashed and gunned down with heavy weapons though lasguns were still taking their toll. They wavered bodily but held firmly onto their anchor in the matterium yet apparently unsure as how to proceed, struggling to articulate their kaleidoscopic will in limited realspace. The Commissar had no such problems, yanking Klaas down from his turret.

'Emperor! Wha-' Klaas started but then shut up when he stared straight into the skull mask.

'Drive me closer, I want to hit them with my sword.' The Commissar said electronically, having drawn a chainsword and opened the top hatch. Immediately a foul stench waved inside, smelling of acrid smoke, rancid socks and fermenting meat left to marinade in cloying perfume, while Thim swerved to the left, immediately executing the Commissar's order. Tjitse vomited into his almost full bucket, Wazer dry heaved.

The rider to the left spotted the Commissar emerging, chainsword brandishing in Faith and Hate. Driving its steed closer to _Nova_, infernal eyes pits amidst chthonic darkness locked down upon the Commissar's naked soul, promising, lying. Neither shuddering, nor flinching or crying aloud the Commissar's armor of Faith, forged, in privilege, at the Schola Progenium Avignon, tempered in His wars, withstood the assault against the Emperor's worthiness invested within. Two of its entourage abominations, one a loathsome collection of appendages and the other vaguely feline, jumped overhead, preying on the Carrion Slave while a third one tried to slither up, over a lasguns emplacement. Striking first the more loathsome Warp Beast got ahead of the feline beast, appendages aimed at the Commissar's head. But a rapid series of _blams_ from the Commissar's boltpistol exploded three shoulders, the throat and upper part of its lamprey head into black sludge. Making clicking noises the feline beast leaped from behind the first one. A bolt round missed, while the second exploded its ear while its jaw splits vertically, claws stretched forward. Putting some weight behind it, the Commissar's chainsword slammed into the Beasts jaw. Momentum carried its outstretched claws just past the Commissar's neck. Quickly bringing the chainsword around the Commissar barely deflected the rider's scythe.

Its violence struggled against the revving adamantium teeth of the chainsword, struggling against wicked scythe the Commissar aimed the bolt pistol. Cunningly the fiend withdrew its weapon, causing the Commissar to lurch forward, vulnerable. Thrusting the scythe forward the rider dented the skull mask, damaging the voxbox.

Sparks flying behind her spinning eyes decades of experience brought Hope's boltpistol into proper alignment. Feeling the kick from the gun told her the enemy was dead. Shot in the head with an exploding round. Exploding in a shadowy mass, fragments vanishing to the Warp. Banished, it howled in impotent hunger.

Wazer pulled strands of hair from her head in spiritual agony, Sunny, smiling soothingly tried to bring a comfort he could never deliver. Mar, somewhat lucid manned a lasgun emplacement with a prayer on his lips. Pyt, in controlled desperation kept communicating with the rest of the Saints. Clutching himself Tjitse saw the full grotesque nature of the rider once named Lhamkû the Westerling. Clutching himself tightly, datacord straining, Tjitse felt magnificent pain, _his_ pain. Thus differentiating between himself from the damned. Throbbing, flayed outer essence coiling around a flaring inner core Tjitse looked outward, towards Hope. Out of the blue music blasted from the Saints' vehicles, not just _Nova, _singing of the Emperor's glory.

Tjitse saw the two remaining riders floating over the grass and up _Nova_, clawed feet touching down atop the transport hold while half a dozen Warp Beasts leaped at Hope. Emptying her clip upon a rider, tearing of tarry blobs, she pushed it off while a sideways slash with her sword bloodily maimed two eager beasts. But it was not enough.

Another slash killed a beast while a quick turn of her head saved it at the sacrifice of her shoulder to the rider's blade, wounded the Beasts broke through her defenses. _No…_

Turning her teeth around she deflected the inky sword of one rider only to have the second one wrap itself around her as she desperately tried to reload, the top of her head was bitten off. _No_…

The driver swerved, sending most Beasts flying even while Hope's thigh slammed into the turrets edge, inky sword cleaving her skull in twain. _ No…_

Hope made another sideward slash at the beasts pushing them back, dropping her shoulder and moving to the side the inky sword impacted _Nova's_ plasteel. Pushing forward she pressed her weight against the sword while striking out with her pistol, whipping the mutilated rider across the face. Blindly she swiped with her sword at the Beasts, feeling the weight impacting, tilting the weapon back. The rest of the pack moved around the obstacle for the kill. _No…-/Great_.

Dizzily Tjitse leaped forward amidst the cramped hold from his chair as fast he could, ripping his datacord from the socket, flashes of errors almost blinding him but he grabbed Hope by her legs, yanking her down. Hope's shocked surprise was palpable, as was the fire burning behind her eyes but before she could react Tjitse went up. Plasma pistol drawn and up he saw the wounded rider drift inside the turret and pulled the trigger. Blue light flashed through its chthonic body as it was banished. With his right hand Tjitse reached through the cooling fog, grabbing the hot hatch. Ignoring the pain he pulled hard trying to close the hatch before the Warp could get in, pilling in atop it even helped a hand. Feeling it lock into place Tjitse dared smile. The order he wanted to give _Face-eater_ entered his mind, but onrushing darkness overtook it.

'Today is a morning of mourning. The mourning of morning.' Lotte said to herself and shuddered at the words as it conjured up memories. Silent tears ran down Lotte's soot stained face, few, if any, drops were due to the biting smoke.

Keeping herself up using a crutch she had refused most analgesics, relishing the pain, the purification, the focus, the distraction from knowing what had happened to the two persons she loved most of all. She never even had the chance to meet one of them.

Swallowing hard she focused upon the task at hand, pulling back what remained of the two companies, plus hanger-on's from the other two regiments and the remnants, away from the twisted City #1 in a southwestern direction. Command of the first and second company, Throne even the other regiments, had defaulted to her because as far as she knew she was the highest ranking surviving officer, the entire command structure from Antsi down to her. Dead, or worse, sucked into the Warp body and soul. Not that she knew much about such things. Ignorance was a blessing, she never understood how much until now, now that she knew _something_.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

The eight Daemonwinds had ripped through them once. Washing over men and machines, physically if not spiritually. Dozens had snapped, turning on themselves or their brothers and sisters. Things had stepped through, sometimes using a host. Surprised and fragmented the survivors had put up a fight against the Warp, somehow holding their own against the Chaotic onslaught.

And then twice as they returned home to roost, except in the southwest. Somehow, Lotte knew, the work of Chaos had been thwarted, somehow Tjitse had done it. This was all just the fall-out.

'Tjitse. I honestly hope your still alive you bastard.'

The corporal she had brevetted to sergeant and act as her adjutant looked uncomfortable at her words. By implication the captain had become a mythical figure among the Saints instantly.

'Order the remnants to combine along our left flank. They're too fragmented and I can't be bothered so they're in a single composite regiment now, or company depending on how many there are left.' Lotte said with a hard edge to her voice that surprised her.

'Yes dame.' The sergeant said, reaching for the voxset attached to his back.

'We'll keep going until late midday, then we'll set up a fortified camp.'

'Yes dame.'

'And I want music. Loud and good.'

'Yes dame.'

'And make sure it's in synch, I don't want a cacophony.'

'Yes dame.'

'You're doing good…' She tried to remember his name but only drew a blank. 'Keep it up.'

'Thank you dame.' There was a weak but proud smile on his face that managed to uplift Lotte's spirit.

A pillar of light streaked down from the sky, vaporizing the cursed mountain and its corrupted city, too late, too late.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Ahead of a column of ten chimeras containing his platoon lieutenant Pol drove inside _Aluminum Valk_ across flowering hills, some as high as seventy meters, following a simple dirtroad, kicking up a dust cloud in the afternoon suns. Where possible they drove alongside it, past the throngs of fleeing peasants and their livestock. Filthy and fearful they fled from the 'Grotesques'. Most threw themselves to the ground in supplication at the roaring and yet musical behemoths racing by. Others fled or apathetically stared with hollowing eyes. But some raised farm implements protectively, shielding other survivors behind thin frames. From the worn and torn prayer book in his lap Pol recited an obscure prayer for their souls. It was all that he could do at this time but those unbroken souls deserved at least that little. An intense, but inwardly spiritual man, often having his deep meditations mistaken with sleep, Pol had felt electrified ever since he had been informed of this pilgrimage, more so since touching down. The nigh miraculous events surrounding captain Tjitse's descension to Undeb under saint Mariken had only strengthened his Faith. Only if Tjitse died and came back could the Emperor's Protection be any more abundant.

'A real Saint.' Pol muttered under his breath, half joking, half fearful. Jo, his adjutant had heard him over the engine noise and choir music. While the rest of the squad was devoted to building their mental strength, the morning's murder-suicides still shocked them.

'I doubt there will be many sir, mutant horde or not. Tjeerd and Freterik would think twice before taking on more files than they can audit.'

'Freterik's courier said it was urgent, could be serious.'

'Could be.' Jo shrugged. 'But when the Emperor and his Saints provide support…'

'Use it, and purge the Unclean. I know, doesn't matter anyway, we'll find out soon enough, shouldn't be more than a couple of minutes.' Jo nodded and took his seat, bowing his balding head in prayer, clutching an Aquila. Through _Valk's _machine-spirit Pol looked ahead. The haggard ribbon of refugees thinned to the old, infirm and sick who lacked someone to help them until they gave way to those that had fallen, dead or dying in the heat.

'The Emperor reserves his Mercy for Man, and His Favor for the Martyr.' Pol said, turning the page in his prayer book and beginning to recite. His driver knew what he meant, putting _Aluminum Valk_ on a collision course. Finishing the _Prayer of the Emperor's Mercy_ Pol then prayed for the native Unknown Soldiers that had died fighting against the 'Grotesques'. Suddenly feeling a deep sense of kinship with those fellow soldiers Pol sincerely hoped to see them behind the Eternity Gate.

Rising up a hill Pol gained an excellent view of the large valley bellow. Four and a half kilometers to the south across the valley atop a relatively high hill a town burned. At least ten thousand genetically pure human beings once lived there. And now flaming detritus by the paw of evil, twisted mockeries of blessed human form. Zooming in he couldn't fully see their deformities as black smoke drifted by but he could still make out hundreds of shapes brandishing haphazard weapons. Driving downwards Pol looked down the valley where orchards lay basking on the south slope, centered around a windmill before giving way to ripening fields. In between the trees and farmhouses Pol saw blue las beams streak across the terrain. Eyes searching for the Saints responsible, but he didn't catch more than a glimpse of a chimera before bar obscured his vision. The view blocked by trees carrying unknown fruit. With his view unobstructed he searched again but saw nothing save an occasional blue flash.

'We're close, maybe close enough for our machine-spirits to hear each other over this damned interference. Jo give me the voxhorn.' Silently Jo handed over the device.

'All hail, this is Pol Vee, hailing all.' Nothing but interference. 'I say again, all hail, this is Pol Vee, hailing all.' This time there was something, but it was scrambled and unintelligible. Closing his eyes he prayed to the Emperor Omnissiah to strengthen his machine-spirit's voice. Jo motioned the other Saints to fall in and when the last words were said Pol opened the channel again.

'All hail, this is Pol Vee, hailing all.'

'-ail. Pol, than-…-mperor your're he-…-kill the-…-ere are you? We-…-do you-…-fall back line. Do you cop-…-eed the fall back-…' Was the garbled reply, Pol couldn't make out the voice on the other side. Pol gave Jo a quick signal to inform and order the platoon.

'We will form up in a fall back line near the…windmill. I repeat, we will form up in a fall back line near the windmill. Do you copy?' While waiting and hearing the confirmation from the other side Pol quickly turned to Jo. 'Fall back line at the windmill, four islands of two, defensive spread, _Valk _and _Pride _as backup.' Listening to the other side finish Pol thought he could make out Freterik's voice.

'The Emperor Protects.' Pol closed the link, feeling his chimera come to a halt. Safely tucking away his prayer book he exited _Valk_ with his squad. Lowering the visor of his officer's helmet he stepped into the warm sunslight he looked out over his disembarking platoon. In tow the Saints Terrador, Terraphile and 'Skitter', holding the platoon banner.

The Imperium of Man, a vast and magnificent machine stretching in all directions, physical, mental, spiritual designed and maintained by the divinity of the most magnificent Immortal God-Emperor of Man so that humanity may survive, a just victory in an evil universe. Untold trillions live within the Emperor's domain, a million worlds divided into five Segmenta and further subdivided into sectors, sub-sectors and systems before ending up at the planetary level. Novter, from which two million Guardsmen were drafted to prosecute His wars in the Fa Reclamation. And he, Pol Vee, a mere lieutenant in the divinely ordained hierarchy found himself ordered to a half forsaken world. A missionary, a pilgrim, and now his true calling, a soldier of the Emperor. Goosebumps crept up Pol's arms, he was in silent awe as his, Emperor entrusted, Saints braced themselves at the edge of the orchard.

Each infantry squad taking position with a partner squad diagonally. The squad closest to the rear setting up an autocannon for support while the one up front had a flamer. Chimeras hidden behind farmhouses, trees or natural obstacles, engines rumbling, ready to support the infantry at a moment's notice. Pol's squad and his partner acted as plugs. A few hundred meters further they could make out the signs of fighting. But it was the sound that was clearest. The rapid _cracks_ of lasguns, the sound impacts, dull, primitive gunpowder explosions, shouting, audible only when the wind was right. When it carried the smell of rancid meat, stale beer, gunpowder and fear. Jo lit a lho-stick. The young Saints looked nervously at each other, some found strength, either within themselves or from the Emperor, if there truly was a difference, others did not. They would do so latter, or not.

'The Emperor protects the faithful. Perform your Duty and your brothers will have your back as well.' Pol said, though in his heart of hearts he understood them. Through his microbead, over the interference he heard Freterik calling.

'Pol we're mo-…-ew minutes and will tak-…-ion behind you-…-ou pull back to our rear. Staggered withdr-…-opy over?' Pol knew what Freterik wanted to say, patchy as the link was. But it was best to confirm lest a horrible misunderstanding wiped them all out.

'Freterik, your pulling back, forming up behind us so that we can fall back, please confirm.'

'-firmed.' Freterik responded. Pol looked at Jo who in turn relayed the information to the troops; the mutants were coming.

Pol looked ahead, magnocular raised. Somehow the waiting simultaneously seemed to take hours and be over instantly. The sound of lasguns firing stopped, leaving only the Grotesque warcries and gunpowder weapons. But then the rumbling engines of Freterik's chimeras rose. Driving through the foliage the platoon approached and drove past them. Some had dented armor or…bits and pieces draped over them. The young Saints nervously looked at them from the corner of their eyes. Too afraid to take their focus of the coming mutants yet compelled to look anyway. In one of the last chimeras Freterik stood up from the turret and saluted Pol as he drove by.

'Kill the Alien.' Freterik said which made Pol chuckle.

'I'll have fun father.' At which Freterik gave a single booming laugh. Pol returned the gesture and they locked eyes for a meaningful moment before turning back to the coming enemy.

The Grotesque warcries became louder and louder and from the corner of his eye, near the left most island, Pol saw something scuttling through the underbrush. At least one Saints had seen it to and opened fire. Two lasbeams cut apart a plant as the movement came closer. But it had drawn the attention of his fellow Saints. Five more lasbeams impacted near the disturbance, at least one of the beams had hit it as it exploded. White smoke rose as bloody bits rained down nearby. As if on cue movement erupted across the treeline, the other islands opened fire. There were more explosions, few did any damage but they did provide cover for the larger shapes following up on them. Ahead of Pol he saw one of them through the white smoke. A massive, hunchbacked frame holding something in its arms which, a second later, flashed and belched hot lead and more smoke. Pol's eyes widened in shock at what he saw, reflexively he looked at Jo just as an orange sized ball destroyed shot in between them, annihilating Skitter's torso. Hot blood splattered on Pol's face, who blinked at Skitter's remains as Terraphile grabbed the falling banner. It had touched the ground, though not completely. In silent indignation Pol pulled his bolt pistol and fired twice at the affronting shape.

The exploding round shredded one of its bulging, ape like arms. Roaring in rage it dropped the massive soloshot, still holding onto the rusty slab of metal on a stick, a large cleaver. Another round and it lost half of its lower jaw and neck, yet it kept coming down. Cleaver raised high it kept on charging, beady red eyes looking maliciously at Pol, a large tusk jutted from the remaining half of its lower jaw, dark green skin providing it with natural camouflage.

'WAAAGH!' The roar rolling over the Saints almost like a weapon, shaking their resolve.

'God-Emperor damned Orks! Chimeras forward, kill the Alien! Kill the Ork!' Pol ordered resolutely.

* * *

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(-+-)

The minute compartments of building tension and sudden release as bombers were catapulted into the vacuum psychosomatically manifested as goose bumps crawling down Osissis' chest. Falling into the planet's gravity well towards the last known sites of Imperial Guard activity to reestablish communications their heavy payloads were testament to the Navy's backing of the Guard. Coming from a quarter light second away Osissis clearly heard the buzzing of lieutenant Stefanie's Lightnings setting up their CAP in high orbit.

Dutifully he informed the _Ophelia Ranger_. The light cruiser was rushing back at max acceleration since the Warp ritual on Under Debate. Through carefully sanctified cognitive censors, a marvel of the Emperor-Omnissiah, psykfilters, faithwalls and Astropathic interpreters Osissis could handle input that would drive others mad. Only glanced when he truly had to but even then the powerful turbulence was obvious.

Eight daemon winds attempted to defile the planet, only seven returned to roost. The spell failed. Almost spectacularly. Almost, because you never know with the Archenemy. Success and failure are relative in the Warp. More so when sanctioned by the Changer of Ways. But fortunately the Emperor's absolute Will is Astronomicanlly clear; Purge the Unclean. And if the muddwellers failed then the Navy would do it. _Blazing Light_ had taken up geosync orbit over City #1, finishing its first orbital bombardment and he was pretty sure the _Ophelia Ranger_ would be capable of Exterminatus. He fervently prayed that it wouldn't come to that. Because if he interpreted the Emperor's tarot and psykdata correctly, then the ritual could have resulted in a permanent Warp/realspace overlay. So far the Guard had been able to prevent it. They had skirted the birth of a daemon world; something had stirred on the other side. In punishment the tortured essence of the ritual's weak link was flung into the system. A sphere of utter darkness, a fraction under a kilometer in size, warping the space and time around it into fractals, shooting across the outer system wildly, its insane screams blocked from entering his mind. Only a single word got through before the filters clamped down. _Great…_ The Emperor's protection had saved the flotilla; the eldritch abomination withdrew into the inner system and died amidst gas giants.

The reply from the _Ophelia Ranger_ arrived. A standard confirmation with nav data, but it wasn't until it had rolled through all his protocols that the true message within nudged at him, bypassing normal systems. It carried the sigil of the Inquisition. Sequestering it away in his private network Osissis admired its thorny programming, threatening to purge any system that dared defile it, before carefully unlocking it with his personal codes. It neatly unfolded, presenting its content for inloading. The information had Osissis gasp, unintentionally informing his senior officers that something had happened.

The _Ophelia Ranger's_ excellent auspex's had detected Warp energy's emanating from debris amidst the radiation belt of a gas giants upper atmosphere. It showed the tell tale signature of Warp corrupted wraithbone shifting between the matterium and the imatterium. Given the amount of debris detected the daemon had feasted upon the collective soul of an Eldar cruiser hiding in the inner system. Osissis hated the Eldar.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

The splitting headache Tjitse woke up with kept out almost all thought, a few solid, cool islands of bionic implants provided relief. Worse was the acidic fire throbbing in the centre of his chest. Faintly he became aware off the shaking, the voices and the shapes around him. Groggily he opened his eyes to see the Commissar, Wazer, Sunny, Pyt, Eomund and the cadets look down at him in concern and fear. Any thought about trying to raise himself from his, now horizontal, chair was quickly curbed by how utterly crap he felt. _ Worse than after graduation_, he wanted to say, but couldn't, because he felt worse than that. A faint phlegmy moan escaped his lips which caused Sunny's face to split in a wide smile.

'Alive and conscious, he's going to be fine. So Tjitse how do you feel right now?' The mo asked sincerely but every word caused Tjitse's brain to pound harder against his skull. Tjitse tried to express his utter hatred and contempt for the man but only succeeded in moaning some more.

'He'll be oke.' Sunny said reassuringly. Wazer didn't react but simply continued to look at him with dead eyes, her sparkling skin increasing Tjitse's headache. Eomund said something in his native tongue that no one but him understood. Unsure Pyt scrapped his throat.

'After you, uhm, pulled the Commissar down and closed the hatch the Wulfbane, uhm Banewolf, hosed _Nova_ with chems. Unfortunately you hit your head were unconscious for quite some time. We've already crossed the river, linked up with the sentinels and are now approaching Accrearres. So you can relax and focus on recuperating.' Pyt said relieved. The commissar motioned at the cadets, one of whom opened his mouth.

'Once we have arrived the Commissar has some important things to discuss with you, in private.' The cadet said emotionlessly.

_Great_

At least things couldn't possibly get _any_ worse Tjitse concluded.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter twelve**

_Be Faithfull, Be Ignorant, Behave!_

Imperial Commandment

Standing atop the battlements of Accrearres' castle, Blachernae, overlooking the sea upon the high point of a cliff, large towers rising up beside and him and his circular throne room behind him, company and personal banner proudly hanging over the throne, Tjitse breathed in the salty sea air. It reminded him of home. His mental and physical pain had been largely dissipated or dulled, so he could think, could command. Sunny and the richly decorated throne room with pedestals showcasing pieces of regalia.

But even now he was hooked up to fluid IV and used his cane to maintain steady footing. Off in the distance pillars of smoke rose from all around, burning forests, towns and the people they contained, campfires of the Alien, Mutant, Heretic and Unclean, the filth of the Galaxy surrounding them. Seagull analogs cawed in the stiff breeze, twin red suns slowly rising in the east, turning the southern sea and sky blood red; poetic, if ominous.

Breathing in the salty sea air he looked out over his new capital city, walled in with roughly hewn stone. More than twenty-five thousand souls called it home. It's population smaller than a single block in Hanze. Most houses were constructed out of wood or the bones of some fearsome sea creature, a few were erected out of weathered stone. Music was audible from the main square, normally used for markets it had been claimed by the Saints as a motor pool centered around Leeg and his servitors with _Maintenance Support VIII_.

Tjitse was silently impressed by the Guard's inherent logistics. Chainswords, a dangerous weapon even in the hands of an untrained child, doubled as a construction tool, cutting through wood with ease. The wood in turn could be used by the Enginseer in a techno-arcane device to create promethium. Which in turn could be used to fuel the machines or be burned for energy to recharge the laspacks. An interlocked and self sufficient warmachine, safe food, the fuel of men, as a few Saints complained when only other rankers were around to hear them.

The thousands of refugees however were forced to live in the winding, narrow streets now that the Saints had claimed the square and the city's lodging. None of the streets had any pavement, and neither did the two large main roads leading from the gates to the castle. And as the wind turned, Tjitse became acutely aware on how they doubled as open sewers, the smell mixingd with the acrid, spicy stench Mar's purge. Of 'Altweerd's retainers, and mutants, and witches. Mar had used some rare scented oil and wood to mark the occasion of Acrrearres' first purge. After an epic struggle Tjitse managed to keep his breakfast down until the wind turned again.

'Pyt, you were saying?' Tjitse said softly. Pyt however didn't hear him so Tjitse coughed, clearing his throat. However Hope, Skull, or simply The Commissar stepped forward, immediately shutting the adjutant up.

'Pyt, you were saying?' Tjitse repeated.

'Oh yes sir, uhm…' Pyt looked at his dataslate nervously.

'Refugees.' Tjitse said.

'Yes, the refugees sir, they uhm… About forty thousand, more than doubling Acrrearres' population during the this siege. They've all been conscripted off course, men women and children, all for the Emperor's war effort on Undeb. And have been assigned to auxiliary units led by a brevetted Saint. Workers are busy with the field fortifications, foxholes, barricades, the works. The wounded and sick, those too wounded and sick I mean, to be useful are being treated by Sunny and the other mo's and medicaes until the battle starts. Mar and Eomund are teaching them the relevant prayers as we speak.' Pyt finished. Tjitse looked out over the city, he'd hesitated on spending valuable supplies on the natives, still wanting to get into the Munitorium's good books but had decided it was a lost cause, on this campaign anyway. He motioned at Pyt to continue.

'There has been intermittent contact with the forward platoons harassing the enemy. The Emperor protects-' for our casualties are low. Unfortunately we haven't been able to entice them to fight and kill each other, yet. But it's inevitable if they're going to attack us.' Pyt sounded hopeful. Tjitse wasn't so positive. Depending on how he worked the numbers he'd have one or two days to save his newfound kingdom unless the Inquisition had different plans. Lord General Antsi, far higher than them on the Divine Hierarchy, had given them a week to bring 'Under Debate' into the Imperium's fold, to establish the authority of the God-Emperor on that half forsaken world. And the Lord General would be far from pleased to find a captain turned colonel show up after the deadline with the news that his cousin was dead and damned, sucked into the Warp. He'd figure out how to keep the last part out of everyone's report during transit.

Tjitse turned to Wazer. She looked better, especially now that she hadn't cleaned herself, dust and other filth camouflaging her, lessening, sparkly skin. Tjitse suppressed a shudder at how mutated he himself probably looked beneath his clothing and gloves. Good thing he couldn't see his own face.

'The Navy?' He asked her, voice somewhat unsteady. She keyed her dataslate, it chimed and she silently consulted with its machine-spirit. When she answered her voice still sounded sore.

'The next wave of Marauders should arrive according to schedule, weather permitting. They'll be accompanied by transports redeploying the rest of your regiment to the site you designated. The latest report I got through Serf said that the _Ophelia Ranger _had regrouped with the flotilla in orbit. The _Blazing Light_ has commenced strategic orbital bombardment centered around the impact crater on the islands to the south-west.' Her tone of voice was apologetic throughout. The Navy had fucked up though they wouldn't ever admit it. It wasn't until Tjitse had informed them of the Orks presence after Pol, Freterik and Tjeerd encountered them that Navy had figured out that impact crater had been caused by a Rok, and not a natural celestial body. After that they'd gone over the orbital recon again and lo and behold there were Orks everywhere, at least a hundred thousand further down the peninsula, but moving up towards Tjitse's city.

'Furthermore the Navigators and Astropaths detected an increase in Warp disruptions near our translation points. It's going to be close but we can still make our deadline, after that…only the Emperor knows.' Tjitse nodded into the distance, he could almost hear Freterik swear at the Navy.

'Morale?' He sniffled, turning to the Commissar.

'High' Came the Commissar's feminine voice, voxbox still broken. 'Though the presence of the Alien has shocked many they are even more determined to bring this holy undertaking to a satisfying conclusion in the Emperor's name. Furthermore news of your martyrdom and resurrection has spread rapidly among the troopers, confirming their Faith in the Emperor's protection of the righteous and uncompromising attention. The other companies have been informed as well, results are similar. Among the local civilian population morale is even higher, though the news hadn't as big an impact as our very presence has. All is going well.' Tjitse looked at the Commissar from the corner of his eyes as she spoke those final words. Somehow it was clear to him that her Inquisitorial mission was not going well. He'd almost shit his pants when she told him about it, though there were other reasons for that as well, just after they arrived in Accrearres, or City #2, and contacted orbit.

If command of the most intact regiment hadn't defaulted to him he'd just be following Hope's orders on the matter, but, lucky him, it had defaulted to him. So he was informed of a few vital bits of information about the Inquisition's mission here. For starters their presence wasn't a divinely inspired missionary activity presented by the Emperor through a courageous deep space exploration vessel to His chosen ships and regiments in transit to a sub-sector wide battlezone. That was just a convenient semi-truthful lie. The Navy ships were picked almost at random, they didn't even know the _Steadfast_ was transporting a regiment. Having only counted on the troops carried by the _Ship o'plenty _Hope and her inquisitorial masters suspected the Emperor's hand afterall. Given what happened to the rest of the regiments Tjitse saw their point.

Apparently an old report from about fifteen hundred years ago had been rediscovered in an Administratum archive on Bazin during a three year audit of a single archive, the responsible Assistant Adjucator Aedile Archivist Annalis had made some powerful enemies, the Assessor Assistant Adjucator Aedile Archivist Annalis to be precise. Some of the exact details of the report had been damaged, such as the name of the planet, for which the Assistant Adjucator Aedile Archivist Annalis had been severely punished by the Assessor Assistant Adjucator Aedile Archivist Annalis.

Apparently a cache, no-one knew exactly how much, of technology, no-one knew exactly what, that was thousands of years old, no-one knew exactly how old, was hidden, no-one knew exactly where, within the single highest mountain on the planet rich in Francium. Enough information remained for it to speedily rise through the bureaucratic layers of the Administratum towards the Official Inquisition Informer in less than two years who quickly told a real Inquisitor who in turn dispatched the _Ophelia Ranger_ within a week. Upon arrival they quickly found the planet and the mountain. The hot-spot underneath made it a very young mountain, geologically speaking, so there was a small chance that the second highest mountain was the one meant in the report. But only if the technology was really old. Obviously they went for the prime candidate only to find Chaos cultists inhabiting the city on the mountain who really, really wanted to sacrifice the landing party to blasphemous entities. Reinforcements were called for and Antsi answered.

But all of that wasn't what worried Tjitse. What worried him was that, if he read between the lines, this was a maneuver by the Inquisition to get technologically ahead of the Mechanicus on Arbed by using whatever was buried on Undeb. This was power politics way, way, way over his spinning head. _Great._

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

In _Majestic Prowler's_ rearview Meeskers saw the armored sentinels lazily follow them, still several hundred meters behind them. The suns had just come up over the mountain. Normally those sentinels had their armor dulled but by adding some mirrors and other shiny reflective surfaces they became blazingly bright points, decoys.

Meeskers himself followed his pack down the northern flank in between the shadowy trees. Many carried fruit but he hadn't touched any, not until sergeant Messen, an old Saint, had taken a ate one, giving an oke off sorts. Noticing that some other sentinels followed suit he did as well, only later realizing that it might bite them in the ass a few hours down the line. It was yellow, about the size of his lower arm but boxy and covered in a rubbery yellow skin he opened it along one of its spines with his knife, revealing a yellow white price. Biting off the top it was sweet and soft of texture and flavor with something he hadn't tasted before. It was good.

_Fury of Arbed_ came to a stop five meters ahead of him. Camouflaged in ghillie it looked like two trees had their canopy intertwined. As Meeskers brought _Majestic Prowler _to a halt behind _Fury_ it seemed as if the rest of the sentinels had vanished. Squinting, Meeskers was able to make out two more sentinels and what he thought was another one as well. Meeskers was ashamed to be in _Majestic Prowler_. Clumsy, untrained and inexperienced he felt he took the _Majestic_ out of his sentinel. Swallowing his pride he eventually saw Geen in _Fury_ holding bending over his control board, a few faint lights being the only indication that he wasn't just a mad man in a tree.

His voxbead came to life, relatively unclear despite the close range, still it was clear enough.

'We'll follow Messen down the flank and head westwards. Take out the Ork nob's and warbosses, soften them up and disrupt them before Tjeerd and Anke hit them in the south-west.' Meeskers was sure _Fury_ elaborated for his benefit. 'That should drive them towards us but we'll peel away, and draw them towards damned. Dieuwke's cans will then hit them in the flank. Remember to check your rear, Sytse and Neeltje will be driving those primitive heretics towards us. _Prowler_, Meeskers, just stay close, don't get in front of me and I'll look after you.'

'Yes sir.' Meeskers replied, throat dry, before praying for Honno's soul and better communion with his widowed machine-spirit. It was silent for minute before anything else came over the vox.

'Let's move.' Immediately over a dozen scout sentinels moved forward in surprising silence. Meeskers kept his mind focused upon keeping up to this pack, _Fury_ in particular, and keep his balance while moving downhill. Rounding an outcropping of vine covered ruins the sentinels fanned out in a skirmish line. Using _Majestic Prowler's_ auspex's to boost his own senses he saw the front of Orkdom; crude tents of stitched skins and lumber containing drinking and eating greenskins, centered around large bonfires, animals and people roasting on the spit. Thousands. Behind them the signs of the genocide left in their wake, pushed Meeskers' mind away, it was too much. Glancing at the Aquila dangling from his rosary he confessed his hatred of the Alien; Meeskers swore glorious Xenocide on his Emperor's behalf and asked for strength and intercession from saint Mariken.

He didn't have to wait long to prove his Faith. The Orks at the edge of the camp had seen the advancing sentinels and raised their guttural voice in alarm. Anything else what have turned tail run, but not the Ork, it stood its ground. Squat, incredibly muscular it was hunched over, about as tall as Meeskers before raising itself fully, waving a rusty slab of metal in the air and roaring, spittle flying.

'Waaagh!' it roared. Still advancing, an unoccupied corner of Meeskers' mind noticed how it didn't run, but also didn't charge mindlessly forward either. Lips slightly parted his fingers itched over the firing control but the rest of his pack held their fire, so he did likewise. As the pack slowed down the Orks roared even harder but even then they held their fire, only inching forward, now less than twenty meters from the Ork. Sweat beaded down Meeskers' brow, he started to make out details; beady little red eyes, crude sigils carved into the rust, a chipped tooth and the way its chest expanded to draw in more air for another roar. He didn't see the axe coming, chopping through the Ork's right arm into its chest, the force sufficient to throw the greenskin a meter to the side like a ragdoll.

'WAAAGH!' The Ork chieftain roared as it charged forward, followed by hundreds if not thousands of its boys stampeding over the flimsy tents.

'Kill the Alien.' Messen repeated the ancient Imperial command almost without emotion, unleashing his pack. Or so Meeskers thought as he fired his lascannon at the large, two by two meter Xeno. He missed, but singed the coarse hairs from its rightside, and hits the slightly smaller Ork behind it, turning its chest into an expanding cloud of ash while smoke billowed out of its, new, orifices. While listening to the low, whooshing of his recharging lascannon he noticed how others fired their multilas into the front of the charging Orks, a few rockets shot out and impacted deeper into the green tide. But the autocannons and the flamers controlled themselves, hovering around the front edge of the line, ready, but holding fire as they started to move back. Hundreds of meters away Meeskers could make out streaks of blue light shooting down the mountain slope, Anke and Tjeerd putting their weight on the Orks.

'Advance to the rear, peel off and remember; don't scare them off.' Messen's voice in his ear was quickly replaced with _Fury's_.

'You're too much of an intern for that Meeskers, just lead the reverse charge.' He said half joking, walking towards him. Meeskers swallowed his reply and turned around, walking past the outcropping they had emerged from and further towards a grove trees. In his rearview he saw _Fury _firing a burst from his multilas. Blue beams shooting past another sentinel mowing a rank of the brutes near its legs. Two Orks were trying to climb up Messen's sentinel, managing to avoid being cut down by the underslung chainsaw. Another sentinel fired a squirt of promethium on the ground. Meeskers could see Messen grin and make an Aquila as he walked through the fire. Both the Orks' clothes and hair ignited but only one fell to writhe on the burning ground. Roaring in pain and rage and dropping only his axe the other one climbed up threatening to bite Messen in the face.

Harpoon suddenly bursting through its chest Messen could see the clamps shoot out just before the surprised Ork was hauled by the winch slung under another sentinel.

'Thanks _Iron Lion_.' Messen said.

'Anything ahead _Majestic_?' _Fury_ asked. Meeskers quickly focused ahead, within the shadows of the trees he didn't see anything moving beyond the leaves in the wind.

'Nothing on visual.' He said before a thought struck and he looked at his auspex.

'I see a few scattered heat signals.' He licked his lips. 'Not moving.' Meeskers finished. There was a momentary quiet before the reply came.

'Animals. Keep your eye out for the Unclean ahead.' Messen, to Meeskers', surprise answered. By now walking between the trees Meeskers suddenly heard dull explosions behind him. For a moment he faltered as he looked around. Orkish gunpowder artillery had enthusiastically joined the fray in a spectacular display of friendly fire. Kicking up dozens of dirtplumes and limbs. Some bounced, killing yet more Orks. One of the balls bounced and shot right past _Majestic's _legs, splintering the trunk of a dead tree. With a high pitched squeal a vicious green ball of malice landed unevenly at the lip of his cockpit, its knife missing his eye by centimeters.

'Argh!' Meeskers yelled as he instinctively punched, sending the thing flying before he could get a proper look.

'What is it _Majestic_!?' _ Fury _demanded sending a bright cone of light from its lamps in his direction, revealing small green impish creatures among the tree tops with cruel needle like teeth and crude knives.

'Gretchin; in the treetops.' Messen said with clear contempt. 'Everyone keep your sidearm close; don't let them get the drop on you and put your lamps on.' Heart pounding, Meeskers didn't squander a second reaching for his laspistol. Walking forward he couldn't figure out how to turn on the lights, but decided it didn't matter as the rest of the pack scoured the canopy. The auspex said there was a localized, immobile drop of heat dead ahead. Looking forward, in between the trees he could faintly make out a clearing.

By the time his mind figured out what it was looking at he was already rushing the _Majestic_ unceremoniously back up the hill. Hundreds corpses, men, women, children, even mutants, all charred to the bone safe their unblemished, eyeless heads. They formed an eight pointed star; the mark of Chaos. Cold vapor waved out their hollow eye sockets, drawn inwards, swirling slowly around the limbs of the immobile young boy standing in the dead center. Ashen rags covered his emaciated frame, one arm hanging limply by his side, the other holding a doll made of blood soaked rags. His eyes opened, revealing that it didn't have any. Only rows of needle like teeth and long, sinewy tongues probing the air from them. Meeskers pushed back the urge to scream.

'Contact some sort of daemon! The Emperor Protectss' Meeskers cried over the vox. Or at least he tried. The static had changed, it had grown malicious, whispering, seducing, growling and howling at him across the vox. He took aim and the crack and bright blue flash of the lascannon filled him with hope, only to see one of the corpses rise instantly, taking the attempted affront to its master. The vox suddenly sounded normal though.

'-appening _Majestic!?_' Fury asked.

'The Emperor protects, Warp contact!' Meeskers frantically relayed before the ether would Warp over again.

'Emperor Protects, it's true. Quick up the mountain _Majestic._' Fury said turning to the right and shooting his harpoon into a tree further up, using it too speed himself up the slope. Other sentinels who had it did likewise, Meesker managed to pull it off as well, making sure not to imbalance himself.

'Back up the mountain, now. Dieuwke do you-' Messen's voice mutated into a guttural hissing. '-rip your eyes out and have the sockets penetrated by-' Meeskers switched it off. Climbing up the mountain he saw the armored sentinels in a long line, gleaming in the suns, opening fire. Behind him the sounds of flamerwash, autocannons, lasweapons and, perversely, the Orkoid Waagh provided him with a sense of reassurance. Looking into the rearview he saw the rest of his pack following him up the slope. Some Orks pursued them but further behind them, amidst the trees, he saw others rushing onwards. Indeed the first Orks were bursting into the clearing. Meeskers looked firmly ahead again; he didn't want to see what would happen. What the Unclean would do to the Alien…or vice versa. Ignorance is a blessing.

* * *

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(-+-)

Grimacing Tjitse mounted the horse Amerigo with his aching body, bandages covered by a pristine uniform, helped up by two young and obviously impressed squires. One was a ginger who constantly fidgeted with his brown and red livery displaying some sort of sleek forest animal. The other one was a blond who looked more numb than calm in blue and white livery depicting a spiny, toothed sea creature. Both looked no older than ten or eleven to Tjitse, but given the feudal nature of Undeb they could be years older. He tried to reassure them using the translations stored in his dataslate. It didn't work.

The white beast they, or someone else, had selected for him was ageing but tame and friendly. Throne, he couldn't have handled a fierce stallion in his present condition if his live depended on it. Holding Amerigo's bridle with one hand Pyt kept his nerves down. Having been born a commoner he'd never been this close to such an animal. It wasn't unruly, but did try to eat his epaulets. Eomund stepped up a small wooden ladder and reverently draped a red satin cloak over Tjitse's uniformed shoulders. He looked ready cry. Tjitse looked at him in uncomfortable silence, luckily the vox system crackled in impotence with a few barely audible words and phrases. It was enough, Tjitse's ad hoc coronation was about to begin.

The two youths grabbed two banners depicting the two suns and an eagle in gold thread and held them aloft. Eomund quickly took Pyt's place, to the latter's, and Tjitse's, relieve. Pyt checked the pict recorder he had hung around his neck and grabbed his bag of gifts. Taking position to Amerigo's left Tjitse's while Wazer picked up her bag on the right, rather afraid of the beast. Meanwhile Tjitse's squad, even Wulfbanes with his partially healed ankle, shouldered their rifles and took formation behind him, Leeg and Serfin taking up the rear. Followed by native dignitaries who tried to look as calm and dignified as possible. Mar, blushing and apologizing profusely, ran to the head of the procession in flowing brightly colored native dress, Aquila's quickly stitched into it, while holding up the _Book of Illumination_. Tjitse, holding his cane in his left hand, raised it and gave the signal to begin.

Two guards opened the heavy wooden doors, a cacophony of sound erupted from outside just as Mar activated the _Book_, its recordings accompanied by joyous, triumphant hymns erupting from it in deafening volume, spooking Amerigo, almost sending Tjitse flying if it wasn't for Eomund's steady hand. Mar, blushing even more, unsteadily walked forward into the streets packed with cheering natives with the rest of the procession following, Tjitse painfully coughed, grasping for his chest.

The streets were lined with the Saints from Julia's and Jan's- no Haak's platoon, holding the crowd in check. Among the cheering, singing, brightly colored clothing, proffered food and drinks and the general admiration of the public, especially the young women, they felt great, rightly honored and recognized after their heavy losses yesterday. Though quite a few felt faintly sick, some physically, others spiritually.

Taking care not to lose his new, and very fine, red cloak Tjitse raised his middle finger up high to the native masses; all so they could see the Ring of Rulers around it, the tangible artifact of his dominion. The crowd went wild at seeing a real Power become their sovereign, cheering, clapping, whooping, shouting, crying. Tjitse couldn't help but grin widely. After his entire entourage had entered the streets Tjitse gave the signal at which Pyt and Wazer began throwing gifts into the eager crowd. Coins and candy, while welcome didn't attract nearly as much attention as the exotic goods; translucent polymer wrappings and lho-sticks. The latter especially were priced as Tjitse saw some youths struggle among each other for their possession, having off course no idea what they actually were. Despite his condition Tjitse laughed out loud, regretting it intensely, clutching his chest and drawing some curious looks from the natives, trying to see what was so funny. To cover up he quickly gave them the middle finger, to which they began cheering again.

They continued onwards, approaching a small square no more than nine by nine meters, where it seemed as if hundreds had managed to gather, barely contained by the Saints. Mar pressed forward, using his large frame to part the crowds. The blonde standard-bearer seemed more relaxed while the ginger one seemed more nervous and jittery than ever. Pyt made some dance moves as he threw gifts into the air, to the general hilarity of the crowd. Wazer smiled vaguely grinned, throwing the gifts to the muddwellers heads, apparently trying to score a blue eye. Much to the enjoyment of those that weren't hit. The Saints following behind Tjitse smiled and laughed. Sunny seemed ready to cry from joy, Dirk and Lieve managed to steal a kiss from the same blushing maiden, while Red and Wulfbanes took swigs from offered jugs of wine.

Tjitse looked up at the sky as a wing of marauders flew over up high, tiny black dots shooting in between the twin suns beaming down on him. Raising his cane in recognition Tjitse's eyes moistened in the bright light as the bombers' roar washed over.

'Ave Imperator.' He whispered hoarsely, clutching his cane tightly to make sure it was all real, And as his watery eyes leveled his attention fell on the top window of a two storey building. Inside, a native man with red hair was bringing his lasgun down into firing position from a vertical position. Time slowed down. Tjitse wanted to yell at his Saints, the danger, what was going to happen. He wanted them to know so desperately that he didn't know where to start, the electrical impulses clogging his vocal cord; it felt as if he was ready to explode. Pain flashed across his chest as he looked into the would be assassin's eyes, reflecting the crowded square.

_Great_…

* * *

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(-+-)

Tarvek's surviving son reached for the ancient laspistol inside his coat with a trembling hand. There was a small scar on the inside of his left wrist, left by an unfriendly mouser named Krosp while his other hand kept the banner upright. In the crowd three trustworthy retainers, Oggi, Axihm and Dimo reached for their smoke-lights. Violet tensed her arms, ready to throw the jugs of wine and smoke bombs into the false one's soldiers. Zeeth gently fingered her sharp knives even as she kissed the scarred old soldier, a last good moment before she'd slit his throat.

Tarvek's gun, and himself, exploded in a ball of red energy, lifting part of the roof up and spraying charred fragments of man and building on the terrorized people below. Amerigo bucked and threw Tjitse through the air, in between the two banners. Feeling surprisingly light and noticing, but not caring about, the burning pain throbbing across his chest, he saw a group of wide eyed, native partygoers approach quickly, splinters sticking out of their faces and necks. As darkness enveloped Tjitse's mind and sounds grew dim he heard the screams drowning out the music, in turn being drowned out by audible cracks.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Hope looked at the mirror, into her own violet eyes. Going over the events of this mission for the Inquisition in her own imperfect manner she felt many things, all of them irrelevant in the light of Duty, Hate and Faith flaring inside her soul, the blessing of Ignorance had been sacrificed long ago.

From reading the reports before she arrived Hope had concluded that they had murdered commissar Alexander, she was also pretty certain of the how and why, even if other commissars had missed it. All that remained was to decide the who, where and how of the executions. Even though it was beyond the Eternity Gate that true judgment could be found but when nobody was looking the Commissariat could be quite pragmatic. So the when would be after the mission. Recent events had made the rest…interesting. Tjitse appeared to have been martyred, judged and found tolerable by the God-Emperor's intolerable Will. The medical officer's initial report had been substantiated by the Enginseer. Not only was the machine-spirit working correctly when it said that Tjitse lacked a heartbeat for almost two minutes it supported it by providing data on Tjitse's biochemistry. It had detected a large influx of hormones and toxins associated with cellular death. Furthermore the artificial glands didn't activate until after the heart resumed beating. During that time Tjitse's bionics had received no nerve impulses.

There was the chance of Chaos infection, for which he would be brought before Inquisitor Herder, but Tjitse would be spared by her, for now.

Behind Hope the three remaining cadets, redesignated, and ranked, with the numbers one, two and three in a hierarchy only she could arbitrate, silently exchanged hand signals.

'What is the Commissar doing?' Asked #3.

'Maybe the Commissar is sick, some native disease?'

'The Commissar often trains her facial expression before putting on her mask.'

It was time for Hope to take off her mask. Closing her eyes she solemnly prayed to the emperor and grabbed her face, gloved fingers closing around her adamantium skin. After putting it on she opened her eyes again and looked at her impassive face. Standing up the parchment of the purity seals rustled softly. With the voxbox on her throat repaired her voice had returned.

'PIP-3.' She stated, meaning Pragmatic Internal Purge - 3

'Yes Commissar.' They replied as one, standing up. Quickly, ritually they checked their meticulously kept weapons. Cadets and machine-spirits were ready for execution.

Exiting their common room into the twilight the Saint opposite the door saluted, the coming darkness insufficient to hide its sloppy nature.

'Commissar; how can I serve?'

'Inform sergeant Wil that he and his squad can rejoice in our presence during victory.' The Commissar replied as she walked past. The Saint swallowed before keying his microbead. Walking through the cliff castle's winding corridors, cool in the summer heat, at least one Saint in each of them, guarding their wounded commanding officer in the large, circular throne room. Walking along the Cliffside they could see faint lightning flashes from a distant storm.

* * *

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(-+-)

'Storms are pretty, I like'm, ever since I was a little boy living on the bulk hauler plying the route betwe-' Red said to the native Eomund as they both stared off into the distance, lho-stick between the formers fingers, at least until they fell down the cliff into the ocean below.

'I'm sure you do Guardsman, but our natives consider it to be a symbol of the Archenemy. Our enemy here is called, by themselves and the natives, the Storm. So watch your mouth around the natives lest they understand what you say.'

'Yes Commissar.' Red said as he saluted.

'Emprah' Eomund said as he made the Aquila, singularly unafraid of the Commissar's judgment, Ignorance being a blessing and all. The Commissar and cadets moved on, pushing past a Terran Purple curtain depicting a gold eagle flying amidst two golden suns, the Powers represented by rubies, and entered the ad hoc infirmary. A gurney, oxygen tanks, trays with surgical tools, from the basic to the unidentifiable, drug cabinets, cooling units, centrifuges and various instruments stood around a single bed in the middle. Tjitse lay upon white sheets, bandaged up, with IV and various tubes attached to him. Sunny looked up at the new arrivals with a bemused smile.

'Commissar what-'

'Prognosis?' She demanded, looking down at the sleeping Saint.

'Oh, simply excellent despite th-' Sunny began, breaking into a wide smile.

'Inform me if anything changes.' Before Sunny had a chance to salute the Commissar and her cadets were already leaving, through a guarded exit opposite to the one they entered, ignoring the main exit to the courtyard where Wil and his squad should be waiting. Klaas looked surprised at Hope and began sweating profusely as they approached him. Quickly swallowing his candy he gave a stiff salute as the Commissar and cadets approached, audibly sighing in relieve when they walked past into the castle without checking his pockets.

This was on the opposite side of the castle to their own room, there was a nice 'obstacle' in the between in the form of Tjitse's infirmary and the main entrance would guide her away from this area. The 'perfect' place for them to try and hide from the Commissariat's gaze, so Duty demanded that she'd make a detour through it.

Only the faint rustling of Hope's purity seals gave off any noise as they skulked through the corridors, torches making the shadows dance upon the stone walls, with the faint sound of laughter coming from a corridor branching off to the right. Peeking around the corner she saw light coming from underneath a heavy wooden door six meters down the corridor on the left, the apparent source of the laughter. The aroma of exotic but good food waved across the corridor. There were other doors and other sounds coming from them as well. For a minute Hope waited at the corner, cadets behind her, listening, smelling, building a mental map of her surroundings and the activities taking place. Given the events of the day she had arranged for entertainment to maintain troop morale on the eve of battle in the God-Emperor's name. Discipline might suffer, and that was intolerable.

Giving a series of quick hand signals to her cadets they resolutely turned the corner. Cadet #2 took position next to the door from which laughter emanated, cadet #1 the door opposite and cadet #3 the door at the end of the corridor. Each of them taking a stethoscope from their kit, there were no keyholes to peek through. After another minute cadet #2's signals confirmed her expectations. Cadet #3 signaled silence. But cadet #1 signaled possibly unsanctioned fornication. Stepping forward she signaled the cadet who grabbed his flashlight, turned it on and swung the door open. Caught like two copulating rabbits in a headlight they looked wild-eyed at the light source before scampering for their clothes.

'Where is her sanction?' Hope asked flatly. After having them medically checked she had paid numerous women, many of them refugees from the genocide, in order to prevent any rape and raise troop morale. As proof they had been given a ribbon for around their left arm, she didn't carry any.

'Uhm…well…we…I…didn't force her…' He stammered raising his hands in defense, no more than nineteen years old. She looked at the woman; behind her shocked awe at the light she was embarrassed and even peeved rather than hurt or trying to escape. But unsanctioned. So she punched the Saint in the face, splitting his lip.

'One week of disciplinary duty.' Then she closed the door again. A look at cadet #2 told her that they hadn't noticed anything. Signaling cadet #3, he opened the door and shone in with his flashlight. Fatigues covered in wine stains, head between his legs and surrounded by an odor of alcohol it took the wasted Saint a moment to abruptly notice what was happening.

'Oh rusting Throne.' The youth said before bumping his head against a heavy overhead shelf. This was a far more serious infraction, the dog was way too far gone to be useful in a fight, and that with the enemy before the gates. She grabbed him by the hair and dragged him into the corridor before having cadet #2 open the door. Two long wooden tables carrying a sumptuous, if barbaric, dinner, stood in parallel. Looking at the new entrants the Saints and natives, some of them wearing ribbons look at them. Throwing the wretch on the ground it vomited in partial panic. Hope drew her bolt pistol and pressed its face down into its own vomit.

The entire room had fallen silent save the occasional, involuntary sneeze or cough and continuous hiccupping from one young Saint, as the natives and Saints looked at what was happening. A chill ran through Guardsmen's collective spine.

'All hail.' Said Hope's dead voice. There was silence.

'All hail.' She repeated, emotionlessly.

'The Saints of His Victory.' They repeated weakly. Hope dialed up the volume of her vox box.

'All hail!'

'The Saints of His Victory.' They repeated energetically. She dialed the volume down.

'The evils of the universe Aliens, Mutants, Heretics and Unclean camp down the mountainslope. Forsaking his Duty this drunk is too far gone to fight shoulder to shoulder with his brothers in the God-Emperor's name.'

Blam!

Standing like an archetype of the Immortal God-Emperor's Commissariat above the headless corpse she calmly holstered her bolt pistol and made the sign of the Aquila before turning, the cadets watching her back around and exiting. Point made. They had barely made a step as the first screams began from inside.

Silently, his hiccup gone, Meeskers scraped some of _Fury's _brain matter from his face he looked at his hands in total shock even as the woman on his lap screamed.

Coolly Hope paced through the castle, moving down several stairs and staying close to the outer wall. This would allow them to approach the remains of Wil's squad from an unexpected angle. Emerging in shadow Hope saw the five of them standing, Wil, Karl, Johan, Maarten and a native guide, all of them blinded by the light of their own lamps.

'All hail'

'The Saints of His Victory.' The Saints said, surprised, turning around and barely having time to salute as the cadets began their inspection under their Commissar's stern gaze. The native, the blonde boy from Tjitse's coronation.

'Kit inspection.' The Saints looked uncomfortable, especially Maarten and Johan, whose kit weren't in order, they had snuck in some wine. Wil rolled his eyes at the two troopers. Hope punched Johan in the gut, blowing the wind out of his lungs. Turning to Maarten she allowed enough time to pass for him to see Johan fall to the ground and tighten his own stomach muscles in preparation. So she punched him in the face.

'A week of disciplinary duty for the both of you.'

'Yes Commissar.' Hope looked at them for another moment before turning to the boy.

'Guide us to the corrupted boy.' She said, gesturing at the group, her weapons and then the gate.

'Emprah.' The boy said, looking up at her with open mouth before moving off, gesturing for them to follow.

'Take the front sergeant.'

'Yes Commissar.' Wil said as he and the Saints formed up and followed the boy, lighting the way using their lamps, casting hard shadows with their white light. The only sound came from their footsteps on the stinking, muddy road as they descended down into the city, taking care not to lose their footing. Within the city they could hear the sounds of partying in Tjitse's name, safe the odd candlelight and tavern it was dark, cloud cover obscuring stars and Powers, gas giants, in the night sky. Passing past a tavern the Saints looked longingly at the place. Suddenly the sky along the coast lit up, the _Blazing Light's_ scouring a concentration of Orks past the horizon. As suddenly as it came it went.

* * *

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(-+-)

After twenty minutes through the narrow streets they came upon the brightly lit compound. The place itself was essentially a massive, squat stone building, only slightly higher than the surrounding houses, but clearly far more sturdy. Two squads from Twan's platoon kept it covered, a chimera stood around the corner, using its engine to power the flood lights. Its lower level was also bolted shut. Alongside the Saints stood several armed natives, huddled together, in the same heraldry as the boy, with spears and swords. Sergeant Justin approached them, saluting smartly and offering his monoscope to the Commissar.

'Commissar, we kept back from storming this place, just as you ordered.' Hope took the monoscope and looked but didn't answer the sergeant.

'It's barricaded on the ground floor, but I can occasionally see heat signals at the top windows. There were occasional potshots, but they can shoot for shit, and there haven't been any since darkness.' Hope gave the monoscope back to the sergeant.

'Do you have any grenade launchers and shotguns?'

'In…in the chimera.' The sergeant said, unused as he was to the Commissar's voice.

'You four take shotguns. I want them alive for questioning, so use small gauge. Sergeant Justin when I give the signal sergeant I want smoke grenades through the top windows as well as suppressive fire, no heavy weapons. Oh and keep the boy here.' Both sergeants saluted and did as they were told. The boy looked on curiously as cadet #3 prepared the explosive charge. They followed up with rebreathers and goggles. After three minutes everything was in order, everyone was in position. Hope raised her bolt pistol.

Blam!

Two squads opened in a series of quick bursts while two smoke grenades flew into the top window, a thin, hissing trail of smoke behind them. Cadet #3 ran forward, supported by Joris and Johan, sporting flashlights on their shotguns, towards the main entrance, placing the explosives and beginning the _Blessing of the Bomb_. As he did there was movement behind an arrow slit flanking the door. Johan pumped two rounds of shot into it as cadet #3 finished. Tapping the two Saints on the back of the head he pulled back, the two soldiers following. Rushing behind cover next to their squad mates the bomb exploded a second later in a deafening boom, shaking everyone's diaphragm sending stone fragments flying and obscuring the street in a dust cloud. There was a moment of silence into cries of fear and panic rose up in the surrounding area.

'Advance.' Hope ordered loudly. The four Saints advanced into the cloud, shotguns drawn. With the Commissar and cadet following, the former with bolt pistol and chainsword and the latter with lasguns drawn. The Saints eyes were teary as they arrived at the wrecked doorway, bits still falling down. With Karl on point they entered, cones of light covering the corners, stairs and doorways.

'Karl left door, Joris the right, Johan the basement.' Will said as he moved towards the two dust covered bodies on the floor. A man and a woman, a trickling of blood from a wound on his temple and no apparent injury on her.

'We'll secure the prisoner.' Hope said flatly as one cadet bound and hooded the native while another kept his gun pointed at him while the third checked the surroundings. There was a rapid succession of red flashes and shotgun booms from the left room. Wil and the Commissar quickly went in, guns at the ready. They found Karl just as he died, missing a leg and being severly wounded at the chest, his larynx apparently burned through. Raising his hand weakly at the Commissar, trying to speak only smoke came from his moving mouth. Formerly fine clothes shredded, crying out in pain the native reached for his ruined face, pulling of ribbons of flesh as the lasgun lay useless at his feet. Snarling Wil was about to blow the rest of his face off but Hope pushed the weapon away just as it fired, shot impacting against the stone wall. Wil turned around in anger but swallowed his tongue as he looked into her skull face.

'Cadets, bind him. Sergeant continue securing the building.' Hope said. Teeth grinding Wil did as he was told, ordering Johan and Joris up the stairs even as the cadets secured the wounded man, Commissar right behind him.

Upstairs on the first floor they found two bewildered soldiers with their weapons drawn. Two shots by Joris and Johan to their knees brought them down. In a room they found a female servant brandishing a large kitchen knife, incoherent with fear. She slashed out and Wil fired, knocking her down with a bleeding gut wound. Hope was just about to bind the prisoner when a screaming man ran forward from an annex wielding a sword and shield. He was cut down by a single lasbeam to the spine from cadet #1 coming up the stair. Securing the second floor they formed up at the stairway to the third floor, tendrils of smoke drifting down.

'Advance.' Hope ordered, and the Saints went up, shotguns at the ready. Coming up they didn't see anything moving and proceeded to check the various rooms, they were all clear, safe for one room, its heavy wooden doors barred from the other side. Repeatedly firing their shotguns at the door they managed to wreck it. Wil kicked it in with Joris and Johan moving in, right in a spray of full auto fire. Joris was ripped to shreds even as Johan managed to dive to the right, firing his shotgun blindly. Wil entered just as the native ran dry, wild-eyed the man tried to reload but fumbled at the crucial moment, striding forward he smacked the native in the face with the butt of his shotgun, smashing his teeth and ripping his lips apart. It took a monumental effort of will from Wil not to shoot, but he managed it and instead only kicked the native's gun away. Shining into the native's face the man raised his hand against the light, Wil kicked it away and pinned it to the ground using his left foot and body weight. Using its free hand it reached for a laspistol strapped to its side but cadet #2 took care of that before securing him. Well armed and at the top of the building, this was the native most likely to hold relevant information.

'Sergeant, trooper. Come here I'd like to have a word with you.' Hope ordered, shining her flashlight in their faces, blinding them. Breathing heavily the two Saints approached, Johan kept looking at Joris' mangled body lying in a pool of his own blood, face pale, lip trembling.

'PIP-3.' She simply stated. Joris hadn't really heard but Wil managed to blink once in confusion before cadet #1 jammed his combat knife into his neck. Cupping his left hand over Wil's mouth he pulled the man's head back while pushing his knife forward in a sawing motion, cutting through the larynx and ensuring a quiet death. A quick kick to the back of the knee felled him. Hope shone down at him as he clawed, burbling at the torrent of blood gushing out of his throat. Joris died before him.

'In accordance with the Lex Militas' Hope stated before turning to her cadets.

'Building secure, transport the prisoners for questioning in the chimera.'

'Yes Commissar.'

Hope was about to contact sergeant Justin but was hailed herself.

'Commissar, I was informed that captain Tjitse is active again.'

'Confirmed sergeant. We have four real Saints here, make preparations for burial and inform lieutenant Julia.'

'Ye…yes Commissar.' Closing the link she stepped over the bodies of Wil and Joris.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Sitting upright with plenty of cushions to support his back within the throne room turned infirmary Tjitse took small sips from the cup of herbal infusion Pyt had given him. Off course just the way he liked it. Wazer was coordinating transports and air strikes through the vox, via some unlucky Saints who served as a buffer between her and Serf in communicating with orbit. To his left Thim was busy working maintenance rites on _Nova_. Sunny meanwhile shone a bright light into his eyes, testing pupil reaction.

'Oke now follow my fingertip.' He said, and Tjitse did as he was asked as Sunny moved finger from side to side and up and down.

'Can you recite part of the _Litany of the Faithfull_?' Tjitse looked almost insulted before answering.

'In war let us pray to our God-Emperor. For the war from on high and for the salvation of our souls, let us pray to our God-Emperor. For the war of the whole universe, the welfare of the holy fortresses of our God-Emperor, and for the union of all, let us pray to our God-Emperor.'

'Perfect. I can't find any sign of brain damage.' Sunny said, smiling widely.

'Are you sure?' Tjitse asked ironically. To which the mo vigorously nodded.

'If you're feeling up to it, Lieve has cooked some really good food in the castle's kitchens so its safe. I'd recommend the sweetened, fried fish with fruit and jam. The soup is also pretty good.'

'Some fish then Lieve, I'm actually rather hungry.' At which the Saint jumped up and got him a piece, eager to show off his cooking skills. 'Well Pyt, what happened, what changed?'

'There was an attack upon your person using a corrupted lasgun and various accomplices in the street. The men reacted very quickly, almost instantly to the danger and under. They're all dead though, except for the ginger kid. I caught him using my bag, pulled it right over his upper body before beating him senseless. Sybrand secured the surroundings as we brought you here. Currently the Commissar is leading a raid against the conspirator's city dwelling as we speak. Though there were some contacts among the native clergy and castle servants that we managed to identify thanks to Eomund. He was also vital in quickly ironing over the aftermath of the attack on you among the native populace.' Pyt finished. Tjitse nodded but didn't say anything for a while Lieve served him a portion of fish. It tasted good and Tjitse focused upon carefully taking a few bites, his stomach still didn't feel all that great, before he turned to Pyt again.

'Interrogations?' He asked, mouthful of fish.

'No news from orbit about the prisoners we send up earlier.' Which didn't surprise Tjitse, with the Inquisition behind it… 'And the Commissar is still busy to begin interrogations.' Pyt finished. Tjitse looked off in the distance for a minute.

'Get me the prisoners most likely to know something. As well as Leeg and two servitors if he isn't busy. But especially, get me the Astropath. Oh and Eomund, we'll need him to translate.' Tjitse ordered before focusing on the fish again, it really was very good. Pyt looked at him for a moment.

'Yes sir.' He said with trepidation before walking away just as Eomund walked in.

By the time he'd returned, followed by five prisoners, one of them the ginger kid, an equal number of guards, Serf and Leeg with two servitors, Tjitse had finished his fish and he looked at the prisoners. Other than the boy there were two young men and a woman he didn't know and an older man involved with his coronation, apparently some sort of cleric.

'Hmmm. Oke, Leeg, put her in between the two servitors and act like you're going to turn her into a servitor as well, see if she's eligible.'

'Yes sir, done sir, she's eligible.' Leeg replied after casting one look at her. Tjitse blinked.

'Yes but she doesn't know that. Make sure she knows it.'

'I'll begin translation searches for the word servitor immediately sir.' Leeg replied making Tjitse roll his eyes.

'I mean physically compare her to the servitors, hold a bionic limb next to her organic one for a second and then tell her and…and…Dirk just micromanage him.' Leeg somehow managed to look confused while Dirk simply saluted and smirked silently. Tjitse watched as they placed the terrified woman in between the two servitors and Leeg started examining her using his various implants and servo-arm, occasionally poking her at Dirk's direction, much to the amusement of the Imperials. Of the other prisoners the older man seemed the least impressed at what was happening.

'Oke, that one, chain him up good and have him kneel before Serf, keep the rest away. Oh and roll my bed closer' Pyt looked ready to say something but kept his tongue and did as he was told. The other Saints looked on unhappily. This wouldn't be funny.

Still lying in his bed he handed Eomund a dataslate with questions. The native asked the questions firmly but the man simply kept his mouth shut, looking defiantly at Tjitse. Grabbing Serf's white dataslate with one hand Tjitse pressed a few runes using only his thumb. Immediately the temperature dropped as a chill ran down the spine of every sentient being in the vicinity. Blood squirted from the man's nose and the muscles in his left arm tightened with incredible force even though it was restrained with irons, something had to give, predictably it was the native's bones that gave way first. A single flick of Tjitse's thumb and his muscles relaxed.

'Oke now ask him again.' Tjitse motioned at Eomund, unfortunately the captive man had started to scream hysterically. Attempts by Eomund to have him shut up and answer the questions failed so Tjitse pulled him back and activated the dataslate again. There was a faint humming coming from Serf's sewed shut mouth and the captive turned immediately silent, eyes wide but glazed over. After a few seconds Tjitse lets go and immediately the man began crying, repeating a single word, over and over even as his bladder emptied. Sunny snickered. If Tjitse remembered the translations correctly the captive was asking for his mother. Eomund looked distressed but asked him the questions again. The captive simply continued to do so even after Eomund smacked him in the face. Tjitse sighed and pulled the native back before keying the dataslate again, it didn't help that he didn't really know what he was doing.

This time the captive tightened up, seemingly ready to implode until, in a display of blood, half digested food and fecal matter his entire, several meter long, intestinal track squirted from his rectum. Sunny rolled over the floor, almost literally, laughing his ass off, even as everyone else was too stunned to react. Wazer began throwing up again, smelling the odor coming from the body Tjitse fought to keep the fish down but managed. All the other prisoners had lost control of their bladders.

'Uhm…that didn't go too well, oh well, we have more captives. Let's see, oh off course… her, she should be well and scared now.' Tjitse said as he pointed at the female captive in between the servitors. Seeing him point at her she turned pale and began shaking, before starting to talk rapidly to Eomund. Tjitse couldn't pick out more than a few words but it was clear to him that she was spilling everything. _Great._

'Oh and someone get rid of this filth.' Tjitse ordered, the remains were making him feel sick again. The Saints looked at each other, furiously trying to decide a way in which the unfortunate task wouldn't fall on them. It was Dirk who suggested having the servitors do it. They didn't complain as they grabbed the body and walked to the back of the throne room, the bundle of intestine staying mostly where it lay, and then unceremoniously dumped it over the ledge. The female captive stammered and looked in horror as the bundle of intestine unrolled as the body fell further down the cliff. After throwing up she began talking again, unsteadily and with tears in her eyes, at a queasy Eomund.

It took a few minutes to properly translate everything she had said, luckily Leeg had autorecorded, during which time Tjitse sipped down a fresh herbal infusion from _Nova, _provided by Pyt, as the translation was inloaded to his dataslate. Wazer approached the left side of his bed, arms crossed and looking down at him.

'You seem awfully relaxed Tjitse. Does this sort of thing happen often down in the mud?' She said sharply.

'You should have seen my graduation on Novter.' Tjitse said as he looked her in the eys. 'Eldar pirates broke through and began their own festivities. Freterik lost his wife, Anke most of her family and I got medal for granting the Emperor's mercy upon my friends and teachers using a flamethrower. Do you want a drink to get the taste of bile out of your mouth? I saw you throwing up. Pyt, Pyt, get her a glass of water.' Tjitse said without really looking at Wazer. Instead he got his aching body out of bed on the right side, exposing the back of his gown. Sunny, on the other side of the infirmary, began protesting vigorously when he saw. Using his cane, with both hands on the skull, it felt pleasantly cool, clearing Tjitse's mind. Closing his eyes and carefully standing up Tjitse stretched out, seeing how far he could go, how well he felt. Cool, clear and painless, save the burn on his chest, _Great_.

Datacord snaked out of his wrist and connected with the dataslate, his eyes fluttered for a second as he reviewed all the data before looking incredulously at an unassuming wooden pedestal near his throne.

'My Emperor, you've got to be joking.'

'Now what makes you say a thing like that?' Hope asked plainly as she and her cadets walked in, clothes bloody and dirty, prisoners in tow.

'This.' And he gave the dataslate to Pyt to give to them. 'Leeg, take that thing apart, carefully.' They watched as Leeg gently removed the wooden panels in half a second, revealing an old Imperial control station, seemingly inert.

Tjitse walked forward, took of the Ring of Rulers and fixed it to the end of his datacord before pushing it into data-portal. Several of the lights on the control panel turned on and there were a series of louder and louder clicks that quickly spread outward through the floor. Sounds of grinding stone and ripping fabric filled their ears as the floor shuddered. Its edges drawn inward and clamps attaching it to the rest of the room were released. The platform slowly lowered itself a meter and a half before roughly locking into place, unbalancing them.

'This rusts! What's going on.' Dirk said as he grabbed his plasma gun.

'Put that down you.' Sybrand demanded.

'Captain, what's going on…' Pyt asked.

'No idea.'

Large cogs, build into the side of the machine the throne room clearly rested on, squealed with the sound of grinding metal and then the entire platform began to rapidly descend into the mountain. Above them there was a heavy, dull sound as a slab of adamantium sealed the shaft above them, blocking the disc of light from Blachernae at the top.

The natives were in shock or crying, occasionally murmuring, and were generally ignored. It was the Saints that made the most noise before the Commissar's presence quickly brought the swearing under control. Tjitse kept quiet knew they were a long way from the bottom; he could sense it in the data but didn't dare to look any further, afraid of what the machine-spirits of this place might tell him if he asked. Afraid of what the Inquisition might do to him if they found out. After having descended almost five hundred meters into the mountain they could a deep grumbling beneath them. Descending just a little further the throne room stopped with the sound of clamps securing it, above them the grumbling returned, a beam of light showing that another blastdoor closing. Shining around with the lamps further revealed that they were in a dome of sorts, cogs from the platform meshing with pillars surrounding them. Dark tunnels branched out around them, leading deeper into the mountain. Above them Aquila's shone with the reflected light of the Saints as they looked around with their lamps. Two pedestals flanked each tunnel. There was a faintly audible humming as power returned, spreading outward through the tunnels. Many lamps fizzled and died, but a few flickered to life, revealing more details. Pipes, gears, cables and screens while inside alcoves stood the skeletal remains of servitors, only bone and technology remaining, the rest long since rotted away. An automagic voice appeared, spooking the natives further, who tried to cluster together for protection while Eomund drew his sword, from a clearly malfunctioning voxbox.

'Welcome to the Mons Noctis-Ysleeth research facility. None have honored the Emperor Omnissiah's here since the evacuation was ordered in M40-382.' Leeg and his servitors immediately stepped forward; they knew their Duty when they saw it.

Tjitse's heart pounded as new data flowed into him through the pedestal, ring and datacord. Hope looked at him as he turned the ring further, creating an audible click, immediately the began descending further. Leeg made a dead stop and turned around to Tjitse almost looking insulted and angry but also curious. Tjitse had never seen the man so…human. After going down another five hundred meters and three blastdoors the platform stopped again. This time no voice spoke and no lights turned on save those from the Saints themselves. A few Aquilas glittered in the dark. Tunnels again branched off but these were off a different design and material than above. But it was the machines that drew a long continuous line of binary from Leeg and the servitors. Imperial technology was draped over two different and yet intertwined types technology. One Tjitse recognized as Eldar from the symbols and design, the other appeared human but with only a few signs that hinted at the Mechanicus.

Tjitse felt lightheaded as new data flowed into him and with a queasy feeling he turned the ring even further, causing them to descend even further, another kilometer, past six blastdoors. After the seventh blastdoor light, a faint green, shone past the edges of the platform. Arriving in a huge hall hundreds of meters high and stretching further than they could see, it's wall covered in strange glyphs and runes that shone a fluorescent green. All of them gasped, even Leeg. Silver machines emanating a sickly green light and rows upon rows of metal bodies opened up before them. Further afield, at the center of concentric circles of machines and skeletons stood device that dominated the hall. Metal sheets cut into strange and irregular shapes floated in a pillar of green light, orbiting around a single white point that seemed to crackle with electrical discharges.

Arriving at the ground level they found themselves in a clearly delineated circle of 'mundane' machines with picket fence of adamantium around it. Throat as dry as parchment Tjitse turned to the Commissar, having the distinct feeling that he was either going to get hugged or shot.

_No_

_Great_

'How could things possibly get any better?' Hope said. Tjitse could swear she was smiling underneath her metal face.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter thirteen**

_The planet will look up and shout, "Save us!"__  
><em>_And I will say, "_Yes_… deploy the virusbombs."_

Saint Mariken

'KAAAOOOS!'

Roared the damned Storm Swarm in body and soul as they threw themselves against Accrearres's defenses in the dark hour before dawn. Tens of thousands storming upwards, brandishing every weapon they could get their appendages on, kicking up grass, dirt and wilting flowers and scorched earth, past burned hovels, coals still glowing amidst the ash, past the dead, only just rotting, some of them partially eaten. The outposts, manned by natives and a few Saints, barely had time to respond. Guided by mutants capable of seeing at night the enemy was upon them just as the first alarm was raised.

'Pol we're under attack! Do you copy? Pol?' Voices whispered back sweet, cloying damnation to Terrador, so he threw his fallen machine-spirit away where it crashed into his weathered guitar. The sound of breaking wood sending a twang of regret into his heart before Terrador closed his eyes, exhaling unsteadily. Pol would find out soon enough. Opening his eyes with fatalistic acceptance he raised his gun over the lip of the fox hole and looked. All rusting Warp was advancing upon him, vomited forth from the darkness. Amidst screams and desperate full auto fire the outpost fifty meter further was being overrun. Its death burned pic perfect into his retina with each blue flash. Terrador knew he was going to die, spiritually it liberated him, he was going become a real Saint of the Emperor. Somehow it seemed as if he was looking at himself.

'Stand, stand for the Emperor you rusting interns. Stand!' Terrador ordered, firing his weapon in short bursts, genuinely concerned for the souls under his command, who are about to die, like a true officer of the Divine Hierarchy. officer. First two shots shooting overhead, adjusting his aim Terrador fired again. This time hitting a mutant with milky spider eyes twice in the chest the abomination went down flailing, trampled by the Ork behind him. Charging it raised its crude axe high, wielding something else in its left hand. Firing again Terrador hits the Ork once in its chest, partially melting the patchwork chainmail and making the area surrounding it glow red hot, burning the thick leathery skin underneath. Yelling in pain the Ork's charge hardly faltered its bestial assault but fired the large powder soloshot in its left hand in a flash of red light. Whizzing past him the lead ball bored its way through the chest armor of a native guard just behind Terrador. Firing again one shot hits the Ork's triceps, almost ripping it from the xeno's shoulder in a red puff. Further behind the missed shot hits a laughing pink daemon, shrugging off the lasbeam it increased its mockery.

By now the Ork was mere meters away, beady red eyes glowering at Terrador in bestial joy. Pulling the trigger he opened up in auto, destroying its right shoulder, blasting its chest open and evaporating part of its thigh, sending it to the ground. Praising the Emperor Terrador hunted for another target to his left where a Storm Sworn rider with an eight pointed star burned into his forehead was beating down on a native soldier, his soldier. The latter threatened to fall under its hammerblows, he pointed his lasgun, only for the wounded Ork to fling itself at him in savage triumph. Biting down into Terrador's neck, hard. Terrador saw himself cry out in pain before pulling the pin from a grenade on his belt. But the Ork shook his head so violently that he was send flailing through the air just as the grenade detonated. Having just enough time left to see the shrapnel kill the Storm Sworn rider and the native soldier he died content; knowing he had denied the enemy a kill over _his_ soldier. Swooping in a daemon manta swallowed his soul, its teeth shredding him spiritually for a millennium as a prelude to digestion.

'DAKKA!'

Soloshots rippled across the front of the Swarm as they came within range. Cannons carried by human and gretchin slaves under whip thundered, often squashing them if they had overeager Ork masters. Shattering against the walls or even embedding themselves into them a total of thirteen natives and Saints died. Either by direct hit, shrapnel or falling down the wall. Twenty nine others were wounded, those with Flak armor much less severely than those without. Overshooting cannonballs demolished the largely wooden houses, killing the awakening families within. By now not only Pol, but also Sytse and Neeltje and their respective platoons, even the entire city, were all well awake in the nightmare, manning the walls in all haste. First a dozen, then growing and growing number of lasguns until more than two hundred and fifty lasguns shot down at the Swarm, hardly suppressed by their ranged weapons, and hitting hundreds. In tandem an equal number of arrows took flight as the natives joined in the defense of their city, their bastion. At most wounding an Ork, not killing it, or even stopping it, though that was actually one and the same thing.

'Keep trying until you can reach Tjitse. Frak it, send a messenger by foot. And Twan as well, he's closest. We need reinforcements.' Pol almost shouted as he rushed up the stairs up into a tower, at the top of which Terraphile carried the platoon banner. Five meters away, atop the wall, a heavy stubber crew opened up in between four lasgunners, one of whom carried a voxcaster on his back. Reaching the top of the stairs he entered the tower, a wooden ladder reached up to the top from which, Pol knew, other Saints and natives defended Acrrearres.

Each shot from the stubber and each _crack_ from the lasguns echoing within, drowning out Jo's reply. Standing in the entranceway Pol lowered his visor, pulled out his boltpistol and chainsword, prayed to the Emperor and stepped forward.

And was immediately hit with hot lead to his shoulder, dropping the, thankfully unactivated, chainsword to his feet. Unbalanced Pol almost fell down the side of the wall but Jo grabbed him, painfully, at the bludgeoned shoulder.

'I'm okay.' Pol hissed as he fired his boltpistol over the battlement into the dense Swarm below. 'Flak armor took the damage. The Emperor Protects.' In gratitude he emptied his weapon while Jo grabbed the chainsword and held it up for him. Quickly reloading he took it. It felt heavy and made his arm hurt more so, he rested the tip against the ground.

'Aim just above the firing line, kill them before they can fire their weapons.' Pol ordered while he and Jo opened fire, practicing what they preached. To his left he saw four grappling lines flying over the battlement, three managed to make hold. Quickly natives moved to dislodge it while a Saint stuck out his gun over one rope and fire downward, two arrows harmlessly hitting his armor but a lead bullet maiming his right hand. Screaming in pain the man lets go of the weapon and clutching his wound. No sooner had the natives loosened one hook or two ladders were put against the wall. The stubber had to reload.

'Use grenades against anything touching the walls, bring up flamers! Have weapon teams focus on their artillery.' Pol ordered pulling the pin from a grenade and dropping it down a ladder.

'You heard the lieutenant!' Jo shouted, running hunched over to the voxcaster while the stubber opened fire again. 'More-'

'MOAR DAKKA!'

The Storm Swarm demanded, firing their full, rather impressive, arsenal. More than fifty soloshot artillery pieces fired, mostly damaging the city and their own relentless assault but still doing some damage to the humans. Other cannons exploded, killing their crew and all around them. More dangerous still were the fat rockets carried under cover of smoky darkness and confusion. Coughing in the smoke and dust, ears still buzzing, Pol clutched the edge of the battlement, pulling himself up just in time to see those that didn't explode launch. Blinking he'd swear that small orkoids were attached to the tip, clutching something that looked like a steering wheel. Large explosions blossomed around the city's defenses. One struck down the plateau of the tower to Pol's left, smashing through the wood, crossing the room underneath and exploding against the rear inner wall, demolishing the top. Less impressive weapons added insult to injury, arrows and lead, stones from catapults and massive ballista fired bolts capable of piercing Flak armor as Pol saw, the Saint clutching his hand was impaled and dramatically flew of the wall. All the natives were dead or dying, the stubber gunner clutched his face screaming, blood gushing from his face, loader trying to do the impossible with a medicae kit. Two rifle Saints, those closest to the tower had vanished into the dust cloud, never to be seen again, only the voxman remained, Jo close by. Grabbing his chainsword Pol granted himself the luxury of closing his eyes for a prayer. Standing up he revved the weapon, seeing a wounded Ork, missing part of its face, burned and bleeding from its side, climb up using the metal chain off a grappler. Pol took his opportunity, bringing the down his chainsword, chewing down through what remained of the Ork's head, shredding its brain beyond the ability to function.

'Loader, start firing the stubber, he's a real Saint now. That's an order you hear that soldier. Jo! Where is Twan?' Shaking the Saint did as he was told. Pol was satisfied to see the Saint maintain his senses as the stubber's fire was directed at the wall's base. Jo dropped on one knee next to the voxman.

'Get me Twan.' Jo said, holding out his for the horn. Sparks flew as Pol's chainsword bit through the iron chain, sending its load sprawling to the ground. Quickly looking around for anything coming over the walls between him and tower he saw the stubber and Saint burn in Warpfire.

'Give me Twan trooper!' Jo ordered grabbing the horn. Grinning maniacally, eyeballs rolled up all the way into his socket the voxman grabbed Jo with both arms. And jumped head first over the battlement, screaming past the climbing Swarm into damnation below Iiikhen'Tuh prophesized through his meat puppets…

'MOAR KAAAOOOS!'

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Both _Steadfast's_ machine-spirit and captain Osissis, with whom it was in direct communion, are calm, sharp and focused, like a predator ready to fight for its territory with approaching rivals. From the ravening immaterium they appeared, occulted behind Warp distortions.

Two hard to classify ships, roved ahead. Ahead, by 1031 kilometers, the first had large spikes sticking out near the front in a circular pattern, creating the suggestion of a wicked mouth. In the center there was an image in radioactive paint, displaying an Ork skull with one eyesocket enlarged, inside the eight pointed star of Chaos. Like a cloud of flies 81 'fighta bombas' flew up from it. The flotilla was blissfully ignorant of its name until it began broadcasting it in a loop; _Uhmy'iiitaahz_. The second one they all knew. Centered on a large derelict Imperial bulk carrier was added a mad array of different parts, structures, sections and even large segments of other ships, taken from its victims, some of them Xeno. _Mutants Flagship_, captained by the grotesque monster calling itself the Mutant-Emperor of Mankind, linked to more than seven mutant insurgencies and one ongoing revolt in Fa.

Following just behind were three Infidel heavy frigates, their hulls somehow chameleonic and alive. Two weren't recognized and refused to display its designation. After some delay _Ophelia Ranger _recognized the third one from its own archives, _Herald of the Unknown Birth_; sworn to the Chaos God Tzeentch, last seen none months ago at the spinward edge of the Maelstrom, nine sectors away…

But it was the final thing that sends a chill down Osissis's spine and into _Steadfast's _reactor core. A dead mass of chthonic darkness ominously tumbled towards them. It ran no lights, emitted no other radiation save in infrared, just above the background level. What little they got from auspex hinted at the corpse of a grand cruiser. Inside the Warp it howled like the grave of lost voidborn. If the Inquisition knew what it was then they weren't sharing.

Under his direction the flotilla's bulk was forming up in Under Debate's L1 point. The _Ophelia Ranger _ only 'suggestion' had been to defend City #2 as it was the site of an ongoing Imperial Guard action. He had promptly accepted it. Stef's Scions screened ahead of _Blazing Light_ as they took position in Under Debate's L4 point, mostly in the path of the Chaos fleet though slightly to the side. _Ship o'plenty's_ captain and onboard commissar had been informed of their duties.

The Emperor's Victory will be hard-fought. So Osissis did something he normally wouldn't do. Inform the muddwellers of the situation.

'We need the prayer.' Osissis said to himself before strengthening the medium of his voice by increasing peak energy during transmission, making his throat feel hoarse while the message burned through the planetary interference at the muddwellers below. Included was a message calling the last of his children to come home across hard vacuum. Hidden beneath it by Magos Pulleyard himself was encrypted data from the _Ophelia Ranger_ for the muddwellers at Ciy #2.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

'Scion Prime to _Blazing Light _vac-comptrol. Squadron Scion is refueled and recharged, pull all umbilicals, do you copy.' Stef used her voice, like ancient Naval custom dictated, instead of using her implants, the struggle was yet to commence.

'We copy Scion Prime, pulling umbilicals.' Replied a clear female voice. Probably slightly younger than me Stef absently muzed as she felt a slight stir, physically as the umbilical was pulled. Mentally as all power was now internal. '_Blazing Light _you're cleared for lining. Electropulting will commence once Orator squadron is finished.'

'We copy.' Stef said, speaking for the entire squadron, as they listened in.

'Connecting your squadron to personal fight-attendants.' Vac-comptrol said absently.

'Scion Prime this is Lancer, I'm your fight-attendant.' A slightly smoke damaged voice said. Must be a heavy smoker because the rest of him said youth to her.

'I'll call you Smoky.' Stef said resolutely while slightly firing her thrusters, moving into position. Only a few g's, she'll have to use her thruster later on.

'Uhm…' Smoky hesitated. 'Copy?' Stef added equally resolutely. 'U-understood Scion Prime.' Stef smiled, as she knew the other Scion's were doing as well, some beneficial fun.

'First time Smoky?' Stef inquired privately while countering her own momentum synchronizing to _Blazing Light_. She knew Smoky's answer, he wouldn't be experienced enough to guide her through a running electropult.

'I have the privilege Scion Prime.' Smoky replied crisply, not trying to make excuses using _Blazing Light's _class. Stef's smile didn't wane. Smoky had some talent.

'Both squadrons ready and in position.' Vac-comptrol notified, turning on the waypoints marking the boundary of the electropult. It was only a basic rig. The waypoints even radiated in the visible spectrum, and would provide only a few g's. But the frigate was designed for frontier duty, the only reason it even had it. Stef snapped to attention like a true vac predator, grinning. Here, not in atmosphere she came to her right.

Smoky took over and spoke through his own implants.

'Electropulting in six...-' Stef's pulse quickened, to better distribute her body own and machine-spirit added biochemicals while shutting down several biological and machine functions so that others could peak over 100%.

'-…five…-' Looking over the data provided by _Blazing Light's_ auspexthat the prey was still where it should be. Flaring her nostrils Stef focused her own auspex and looked at where the enemy would be, making Scion Prime's machine-spirit rattle like a coiled snake.

'-…four…-' She felt her squadron, as ready as she was, geared up for the fight.

'-…three…-' Victory in your name my Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind and Machine. Please protect my ship.

'-…two…-'…

'-…one!' I'll make you proud Stef swore as she was accelerated alongside _Blazing Light's_ starboard side.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Pol shot the next Ork coming over the wall through the head, but three more were already climbing over as well as one chainmail clad Storm Sworn. Two of the Xenos threatened to cut off his route to the remaining tower. Rushing back he swiped his chainsword over the battlement destroying the right hand of the nearest Ork. Merely grumbling the beast, mark of Chaos burned on its forehead, lashed out with its right claw grabbing Pol's shoulder, threatening to pull him down like Jo.

'No!' Gritting his teeth Pol lets go of his boltpistol to better brace himself while his weapon chewed through the Ork's arm. Using it as a lever he barely managed to hold his ground. Having cut of the limb, sending the Ork falling down into the savage horde below, he was just able to bring the weapon up again to block the second Ork's axe. It was a monster of Chaos. Well over two meters with five huge tusks and two long barbed tongues whilst wearing crude leather armor made from flayed human skins imprinted with soul destroying runes. Grinning wickedly Pol used the downward motion of his weapon to force the surprised Ork's axe down into the stone.

'Blood for the Emperor.' Pol spat in supreme hate and contempt as he stepped on the flat of the axe, forcing it further down while slamming his spinning teeth into the right of the Ork's neck, using the momentum to dodge its tongues. Making a virtue of his empty left hand he used pressed his palsm against the plasteel case of his weapon's rear, pushing it closer and closer to the beasts spine, ripping the desecrating armor apart. Chunks of meat flying down his chest Pol roared into his enemy's right ear.

'Souls fo-' Punched, hard, into his shoulder by the Ork, the worst of the blow taken by his armor, Pol was send flying across the battlement. Reflexively grabbing the lip and pressing his chainsword against the stone for momentum he was slowed down but would still have gone down if luck wouldn't have it that a mutant was climbing up a ladder at just that moment. Kicking it in the face with plasteel shod boots Pol arrested his momentum and managed to scramble back up. The Ork had turned around towards the tower, thinking the human lost and didn't see him coming. Quickly swinging his weapon against its neck Pol continued where he left off.

'Souls for His Throne!'

Indulging himself Pol stood triumphantly over his fallen foe, almost instantly, but still too late, he knew it was a mistake. An arrow and two lasbeams shot just past him. Quickly he jumped over the Ork's corpse towards the tower. Feeling a growing darkness behind hi he only dared to look back when he was inside. Perceiving _something_ Pol quickly averted his gaze in terror.

'Lieutenant, Up here Pol!' Instinctively latching on to the Terraphile's voice Pol flew up the wooden ladder. At the top of which another Saint carefully aimed and fired at the doorway, covering him. Reaching the top Terraphile reached out to quickly help him up Pol looked down and saw a part of the daemon enter, a flayed contraption of human bodyparts reminiscent of a centipede. Looking deadstraight into both Saints' terrified eyes Pol pulled out a grenade. There wasn't time for an _Ode to Timing_.

'Grenades down the hatch. Do it for the Emperor's sake!' Pol added, seeing the two Saints hesitate. 'On 3…2...1 and close it' Dropping three grenades and a detstick down they stepped back, one saint kicking down the hatch. Waiting for the grenades to detonate Pol drew his backup lasgun.

Contained, the blastwave bounced inside the tower, blasting the latch door from its hinges, first slight upward before falling down. The natives fighting at the battlements yelled in distress, thinking their end at hand, but in truth the thick stone easily held the blasts.

'Weapons ready.' Pol led by example, leaning forward and looking down. The room was completely covered in acidic blood, it ran down the walls and dripped from the ceiling, dissolving anything organic that it touched. At the bottom some mutilated slabs of meat squirmed, slowly moving towards each other, coalescing.

'Open fire, Purge the Unclean.' And the Saints opened fire until all the remaining parts were mush and Pol dropped in another grenade for good measure. Eyes wide Terraphile jumped forward, grabbing Pol with both hands, forcing him down just as a gargoyle swooped by.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly Pol walked away edge of the tower's battlement. Breath shuddering he looked out across the battlefield, weeping silently, prohibiting himself from looking weak before the troops. Off in the distance, both on the left and right flank the Saints were holding the line, however tenuously, killing the damned by the dozens. Flamers had turned large sections ablaze even as the city began burning in their rear. Stubbers and autocannons cut them down by the line. At least ten thousand already lay dead in front of the walls. Yet they kept coming. By the thousands and having lost none of their insane determination they flung themselves at the humans.

And at the section of wall entrusted to him they were pouring over the walls by now. Somehow managing to control the emotion in his voice, swallow his pride and steel his soul against any blasphemies uttered over the vox he keyed his microbead.

'This is Pol hailing all, declaring broken spear, I repeat broken spear, my position has been overrun. Does anyone copy, over.' At first there was only suggestive static but it soon cleared making the voice across it sound crispy clear.

'Pol this is Tjitse, I'm patching you through to Wazer.'

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Dhon and Dheremie sat in their respective cockpits waiting for their signal, more than a little anxious given their cargo. Each carried of haphazard payload of ten tonnes placed into two containers. Their respective loadmasters, strapped into a harness attached to the craft via rope, were horrified at their role as ad hoc bombardiers, having to operate the door and the winch build on the inside of it to help unload their payload, before going back home to help protect their families on the _Steadfast_.

'Transports, we have just received word from orbit, Tjitse just gave the all clear. You are ready to go, do you copy?' Lotte said through the vox, power amped up to clear most of the 'static', looking rather relieved that the stuff was being carried away. The two pilots looked at each other through their canopy, shaking their head at the muddwellers attempt at flight control before giving the thumbs up.

'Transport to guard, we copy and are on our way. Out.' Dhon and Dheremie closed their link simultaneously eager to be done with this. Increasing engine power they lifted off form the grassy field as the top of the sky was beginning to lighten in the east, obscuring the stars while the gas giants on the horizon turned a faint pink.

'Martyrdom must have made you even more of a crazy bastard Tjitse you rusting intern.' Lotte reflected bitterly, thinking about Gerard, about what she lost, mourning in the early morning. Homini Rex pushed his cold nose against her hand before licking it and looking up at her. A sad smile on her face Lotte scratched his neck.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Dirk, plasma gun strapped to his back, and riding like a natural on Saldean, his new and rather likable horse, followed following four native guides through the narrow, sloping streets of Acrrearres. Following him was cadet #2, arrogance leaking through his impassive mask at his new hat. The morning appeared like twilight due to the smoke rising from the front and beyond. Terrified and confused the civilian natives filled the streets, slowing them down. Dirk's guides tried to order them towards Blachernae as they pushed through, some even tried to stop them, pleading.

'Emprah, Emprah.' Some of them shouted. Dirk laughed and pulled his laspistol, firing it in the sky.

'Emprah, Emprah' He repeated. Shocked and awed the natives pulled back, clearing the street. Surprised the horses reared and galloped down the street. Blissfully unaware of the danger of Saldean falling Dirk grinned, adrenaline rushing through his veins moving towards Neeltje's and Freterik's position.

Once there he was too use his synchronized chrono to make sure they synchronized battle hymns and psalms with the rest of the company's vox systems, resisting Chaos' more insidious attacks. Upon his discretion he could add the blaze of his plasmagun to help hold the line or lead one or two squads into a counter-attack towards the center. Off course in conjunction with the main counter-attack. Spearheaded by _Nova Ignis_ and _Face-eater_ Julia and Twan would storm straight into thousands of Chaos Orks. Red followed identical orders on the other side of the city with cadet #3 as his shadow. Still Dirk had correctly concluded that he had the more difficult task of telling Freterik exactly how Wazer had proposed to help.

* * *

><p>War Plow<p>

drove down the street _Red Marquis_ to its side. In pairs most of Julia's other chimeras followed behind them. Dieuwke's armored sentinels advanced through the streets on their flanks. Near the front _Nova Ignis _followed. Mar stood atop, naked, displaying his righteous ink, the _Book of Illumination_ hanging from a chain around his neck, while wielding two large chainswords with one shots flamethrowers attached. The company banner behind him, fixed into _Nova's _back. Bellowing along with the _Beseechment of Martyrdom_ sung by the machine-spirits though the voxhorn.

Inside most of the interior had been taken up by vox amplifier from their Engiseer connected with it. Wazer sat in Tjitse's chair, connecting her own bionics to _Nova Ignis's_ machine-spirit. She was in fighter mode, a strange one but that didn't faze her. Focused upon the vox and auspex she was busy leading in Dhon and Dheremie using her boosted signal. When they were close she'd signal Pol. Who would dial into a particular frequency and use a laspack to boost the signal at the cost of the machine-spirit. Dhon and Dheremie could then line up and if one signal was suddenly behind them but another one still straight ahead they were in the sweet spot.

It was her idea, mostly, safe Tjitse's decision on the payload. Stupid muddweller.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Those cannonballs that didn't impact against the walls flew into Accrearres, adding to the devastation, killing friend and foe alike. Impacting behind them, driving the native civilians to Blachernae, the attack penetrated deeper. The swarm had moved their artillery closer. Nearby a cannonball smashed through a badly damaged three storey building, collapsing it in dust, killing the last surviving occupants and the gretchin swarming over the roof.

'What!' Freterik yelled over the screams, battle and music across the street to Dirk. Firing his boltpistol at a blue daemon standing atop the damaged wall, managing to hit its illusion and a nearby gretchin. His squad mates firing at daemonic entities in the sky or Archenemy mortals in the streets below while their support autocannon sweeped across the walls. Dirk's plasmagun purged a shadowy mass of beaks, talons and tongues at the base of the wall, igniting a nearby hovel. To his right one of Neeltje's squad fired down the street as well or provider covering fire. In the street shotgun assisted spearmen barely held the swarm, backed up by the cadet. Bodied piled in , covering the dirt with bodies as blood ran down gulleys. Ducking for cover and feeling the heat radiate out from his weapon Dirk waited as a flamer roared nearby, intensifying the screams. Heart pounding and whetting his dry lips Dirk stood up to repeat himself, firing miniature suns at the top of the overrun tower where Storm Sworn archers shot down arrows.

'An enemy fleet has appeared.' Dirk said, quickly adjusting his aim. 'As a goodbye gift Tjitse got two of their transports fly over and push out tones of banewolf chems at Pol's position!' Slugs began ripping apart the wood next to Dirk, shattering the sparse interior furniture. Ducking for cover he saw that a stubber was firing at him from another section of the wall. A mutant Ork had wrapped finger covered tentacles around the weapon. Keeping his head down Dirk checked if his chem-mask wasn't damaged.

'What!' Freterik yelled, reloading his weapon. Splintering the wall in a cloud of dust an Ork swarmed in, followed by a swarm of gretchin, slavering mutants and beserk Storm Sworm. They killed the two nearest Saints before anyone reacted. Firing three bolts into the lead Ork's chest it went down while another Saint blasted in full auto, killing gretchin and destroying the arm of a Storm Sworn.

'Get a grenade down there.' Freterik ordered killing a Storm Swarm with his bolts and holding off an Ork using his chainsword. Wielding two swords a four limbed mutant with no apparent mouth swooped low around his left, only just blocked by a native swordsman.

Keeping his head Dirk fired, spheres of blasma burning through the outer stone walls of the house from which the Swarm poured, expanding in a cooling spray of starmatter, killing the enemy and igniting the interior.

'Sir, I said…'

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Pulling out one of the last laspacks Pol placed it next to his cap on the ground. Asking for the machine-spirit's forgiveness he pulled out his combat knife and got to work. Using the point he opened up the heart of the machine cutting two of its electric arteries. Then he worked on the laspack, removing its outer casing, before breaking open Terraphile's lasgun, excising the powersetting organ and cutting that open. It was then a matter of joining the cap's arteries to the organ and directly linking that to the laspack. Finished he keyed his back-up microbead.

'This is Pol calling Wazer, I'm ready. Do you copy, over?' Pol said, ignoring the diminished whispers across the vox with the _Imperial battle hymn of Tempestus _playing in the background, even the static was reduced.

'This is Wazer reading you clear. Wait for my signal…the Emperor Protects lieutenant.' Wazer added hesitantly.

'He does the faithful sub-lieutenant.' Pol replied.

Having followed the Navy's instruction Pol waited for Wazer's signal, looking across the red sky at where he anticipated the transports approach. In between the hellish noise made by the swarm the _Imperial battle hymn of Tempestus_ could only vaguely be made out, but was the sweeter for the both of them. Silently standing guard over him Terraphile proudly holding the banner aloft in one hand and keeping gargoyles at bay with a laspistol in the other as they occasionally swooped in through the smoke.

Pol kept quiet for a while as he prayed to the Emperor Omnissiah, gently caressing the remains, trying to sooth it.

'A fine weapon Terraphile, fir for a dutiful soldier, the Emperor Omnissiah will tolerate it beyond the Eternity Gate with saint Mariken as intercessor.' He finally said, throat hoarse, referring to more than just the single machine-spirit.

'Thank you sir.' Terraphile said softly. They waited in silence as around them the battle raged.

'Now Pol, now!' Wazer said across the vox, just as Pol began to make out the quickly approaching whine of jet engines. Immediately he activated his mutilated machine-spirit, sending its voice for all to hear across the spectrum, declaring itself target.

Less than ten seconds, that seemed like minutes, later the transports flew over only a few meters higher than the tower. Reflexively Pol followed their trajectory, from the corner of his eye, fleetingly seeing shapes fall from their rear as they screamed past.

Spinning, the canisters impacted the ground, breaking open in a green cloud of toxic chems, reacting energetically to anything organic. Roaring in pain and fear the Swarm felt their body's starting to melt as the mist rolled over them. Silence followed in its wake, drifting slowly down the city to eventually collect at the wall and decay. Flowing softly past any obstacle it entered nook, crevice and orifice. One of the canister's fell beyond Accrearres' walls, shattering amidst the attackers. A small puff in creeping further down the mountain flank, through the swarm of the damned.

'Yes! It worked, the Emperor be praised Terraphile…Terraphile?' Pol asked, looking around. Though the banner lay against the battlement the Saint himself had vanished silently.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

'On target S1-A2, I repeat on target.'

'Roger sub-lieutenant. Beginning orbital boost.' Dheremie said.

'Copy that, God-Emperor speed S1-A2-4, you to S1-A2-3.'

'We'll come to pick you up later Wazer, try not to get any mud on you.'

'Thanks Dhon, but I think it's too late for the latter, out.'

Wazer closed the link, slowly breathing out. Having finished her part she put her head in her hands, feeling lost and powerless. _Steadfast_, her home, was in danger, and she was stuck here, in the mud. A Swarm of Xeno's, Heretics, Mutants and Unclean held at bay by a bunch of kids from some backwater.

Raising her head skywards , beyond _Nova's_ armor, beyond the dirtball, to the stars where Stef and her home and the God-Emperor fought Wazer prayed. Suppressing a bitter and painful tear in silence.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

'Bandit destroyed. Thanks for the assist Stef.' Scion Secundus signaled before diving on a damaged fighta-bomma, pushing closer to _Uhmy'iiitaahz_. Stef, grinned savagely into her implants before diving . Ejecting the spend, red hot energy pack, 77.5% remaining, she had better uses for her heatsinks, 39% full. 0% damage. 0% missiles. 87.5% of her squadron active. 79.5% for the other five lightning squadrons.

'Your second kill.' Smoky said superfluously. 'Marauder squadrons are 57 seconds out of _Mutants Flagship's _estimated point defense.' Smoky said usefully enough.

'Confirmed Smoky. How many free?' She said, pushing closer to _Uhmy'iiitaahz_, into the dogfight, but not yet committing to anything. Smoky didn't reply what she expected.

'Firing solution.' Immediately Stef clamped down on her filters. Three seconds later the _Blazing Light's _potent energy beam fired through the void, only just missing, again.

'One internal, three external. Four missiles, one internal.' Good enough, Stef committed herself.

'Link them to me, I'm attacking.' A half decent attack run would keep the Orks committed here, giving the marauders a clear run. The vac equipped lightings were linked to her, the voices of their pilots and machine-spirits present alongside hers. It was Scion Secundus, Hawk Secundus, Hawk Tertius and Reaper Tertius.

'Break through and follow up behind me, pattern AD-3, target _Uhmy'iiitaahz_' They confirmed. Serf managed to break through fairly easily, jamming and evading a swarm of poorly guided missiles.

'Scion Secundus is engaged. The others all broke through…_Mutants Flagship_ is launching fighters.' Smoky sounded surprisingly calm, given that it shouldn't have been able to do it…

'Marauders are-' Smoky began but was overwritten by Stef.

'Link-one focus on attack run.' They all confirmed, even Scion Secundus. But Stef didn't, couldn't, she was squadron leader afterall.

'Marauder data.' And smoky provided only slightly filtered data, almost raw, as he continued providing data on more immediate issues.

'Sev…eight bandits broke off and are in pursuit of Link.'

'Link, vector su-0.0, np-0.9, engagement in 2.2.' They would flow around the advancing _Uhmy'iiitaahz _at its sunward side in an arc. Providing a possible corridor for the Marauders, straight at the Ork carrier.

'Smoky inform the Marauders of this option.' Stef didn't pay any attention to what smoky said afterwards. She was far too busy fending off the fighta-bommas with her Link.

Hawk Tertius didn't make it.

By sheer chance the bandit dogging Scion Secundus had suffered a catastrophic failure. Freeing it up to pursue the pursuers. Firing its missile it made a kill and then, using its lasguns it killed two more, breaking up the swarm. Still Stef found herself doggedly pursued.

A lasbeam clipped the ablative covering Scion Prime's right wing. 13% damage, including the empty missile rack underneath, non critical. Heatsink 44%. Hawk Tertius saved her from a pursuing bandit. But found itself pursued instead by an opportunistic bandit, dying before Reaper Tertius could swoop in to save its tail. Missing thrice, 70% remaining, 54% heat, Stef made a kill.

'Scion Secundus maintain pressure on remaining bandits. Rest of the Link continue run.' Stef said before turning privately to Smoky.

'Marauder status.'

'17.5% remaining. An estimated 12.5% will be able to Link-up in three minutes. _Mutant Barge's_ bandits aren't pursuing those attempting to link up, but are advancing onto _Blazing Light_.' A hint of Smoky's worry carried into his implants.

'We'll have to part company soon then.' Stef said matter-of-factly as she and her Link burned hard to point themselves toward _Uhmy'iiitaahz's _flank. Smoky was as good as unfamiliar rooky fight-attendant's came, but she strongly preferred _Steadfast's_ mindtrix with its slaved fight-attendants. Smoky was silent.

'I understand.' He eventually said. Stef barely managed to keep her laugh down, she didn't want to insult him. Something may have bled through as Smoky sounded slightly offended.

'Damage and casualties are beginning to accrue. Fuel is running lower and lower. Missiles are gone or low. Worse, you're running hotter and hotter. Our facilities are far too limited and we're under attack. You'll have to return. And stay there to go torpedo hunting.'

'Correct Smoky. You're a good fight-attendant, with some more experience you'll be a fine one.'

'Thank you Scion Prime. The first marauders are ready to Link-up.' Smoky said proudly.

A single oversized but battered squadron was all that remained from more than eighty Marauders. There was little communication as they continued their attack run. Seeing _Uhmy'iiitaahz_ grow in her auspex Stef realized she could have seen it her naked eye if her lightning had been atmosphere equipped. It was an irrelevant thought and she quickly discarded it when they entered the edge of the engagement range. Lightnings, screening ahead of the Marauders, fired what missiles they had.

_Uhmy'iiitaahz_ perimeter defense was unsurprisingly Orkoid in character. Rapid fire coilguns, better suited to take on destroyers blasted at them, missing the small, nimble craft by a wide margin though actually managing to take out a missile. The remaining impacted harmlessly against _Uhmy'iiitaahz's _brutish but effective armor. Massive banks of rockets fired from its flank which were, unknown to the Link, were gretchin guided. Streaking silently across the void. After making some quick but important calculations the lightnings zapped the rockets on course with the Marauders, keeping their path as clear as possible, even trying to draw them in. Going over the data Stef made an Emperor inspired judgment call. Painting a target using her lascannons on a missile impact scar, at what was, hopefully, a flightdeck.

'Fire on my point.' Momentarily fire ceased as the lightnings made complex calculations and adjustments with their machine-spirits. With pin-point accuracy they repeatedly hammered the same area with their lasbeams, weakening the armor before taking on the rockets in desperate knife ranges. Hawk Secundus went silent mid-sentence, struck by a gretchin rocket. Philosopher Sextus died, just after firing its torpedoes in.

'May saint Voidwalker intercede on behalf of these torpedoes.' Orator Quintus remarked as the other Marauders fired their torpedoes as well. As the Link began their burn back for _Steadfast_ continuing to evade the perimeter defense the torpedoes struck home. The first two opened up the flight deck while the third demolished the interior, igniting fuel and ammo. Three more streaked inside, opening up more of the ship while the last one was hit by a coilgun slug.

Praising the Emperor in a wave of vicious relieve the Link overshot the _Uhmy'iiitaahz's _as small secondary explosions ripped through it. It fired another salvo of gretchin rocket after them as they sped past. If they wouldn't have to turn around it would have been easy. 74% heatsink didn't help either.

'Excellent shot Link.' Smoky cheered before continuing more seriously. '_Mutants Fla-_firing solution!' Smoky cried out. Stef clamped down on her filters just in time. Using the damage caused like a signal light _Blazing Light _fired its main armament again. Streaking across the void the bright blue energy beam cuts through the _Uhmy'iiitaahz's _weak shield, its armored flank andmelting its innards or exposing them to the vacuum, _Blazing Light _crippled its enemy whilst _Mutants Flagship_ drew closer.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Sybrand lay flat on the roof, firing repeatedly into a Warpbeast before it blindly charged, falling down into the toxic street below to slowly dissolve. Following its movement down he saw a Storm Swarm, branded in its evil mark, aiming a soloshot. Two quick shots took him down. Just as _Mariken Marches_ ended and _Exaltation in Duty_ began.

'Send in the natives.' He ordered.

'Understood. ' Emprah, Emprah. Dog-soldiers you.' He pointed at a group of chainsword armed natives while speaking a butchered variant of their language. 'Attack, attack, kill Storm Swarm.' Motioning at them to attack, firing his lasgun from his hip, covering their tentative attack. They were more afraid of their allies and their own arcane weaponry. Strange toothed swords that growled unnaturally and tried to free themselves from their hands if not carefully handled. Saint administered chems helped to overcome their fear and fatigue, though they are ignorant of the Emperor's blessing.

Only two of them were winged by Storm soloshots before they reached the edge of the four storey building via the terrace of an adjacent building.

It had been build on a lip of granite extending from the mountain, providing a solid foundation for its high structure, from the top of which hung the burned corpses of Altweerd and his house. To be sure a Saint from Pol's platoon covered it from further up the slope. Sybrand stood up to join Lieve as another Saint arrived to take over his position. Moving over the rickety roof section as fast as he dared he received word from one of Julia's squads just as he arrived by Lieve.

'Sybrand, we're in position, ready to grapple up at your word.'

'Understood Fatidicus. You are cleared to go. Keep an eye on them Gier.'

'Always sir.' Gier said as he watched Fatidicus go up.

Using their new weapons the natives cut their way through the reinforced door while the Saints covered the windows. In the surrounding area Saints hunted on the upper floors and roofs for any sign of the enemy, mostly gretchin and Warpbeasts. In the streets below a faint sludge pooled through which chimeras and sentinels travelled, adding their fire support.

Ripping open the door the first two natives through died of soloshots. Inside followed a moment of frenzy, in which four natives, one Ork, a mutant and a Storm Sworn died in various stages of dismemberment. The smell of blood inside mixing with smoke outside.

Silent, safe the growling of chainsaws and the music of battle, they looked over the charnel. White-faced a youthful native, younger even than Lieve and the other interns, threw up before running away. They let him.

'Cover the doors.' Sybrand said, resolutely walking into the blood calming the machine-spirits Picking them up and giving them to a native he noticed that Lieve only stared at the carnage, wide eyed.

'Back, go to Blachernae. Blachernae.' Sybrand said as he motioned at the native impatiently before grabbing Lieve's arm.

'Snap out of it Saint. Don't spook the natives. We can't speak each other's language except for body-language.'

'This is…is…'

'Not now Lieve, not now.' Sybrand looked into the young soldier's eyes. 'Save it for after the battle, then you do what you have to do. _Not _now. Now you have Duty, as a Saint of His Victory. Recite the _Litany of Hate_, take a few of these primitives left and kill everything inhuman. I'll take the rest right, and we move up. Meet with Fatidicus' interns. And for Throne's sake, when I say, cover the rusting doors you cover the rusting doors.'

No need to wait around in a place like this and keeping his gun pointed at a door as Sybrand led his party.

Further inside the house they heard the sound of fighting between Saints and Storm Swarm. Sybrand took it as a cue and pointedly tapped his microbead.

Walking through the right door Sybrand entered a servants living room. Furniture thrown around, broken pottery and crumpled, broken textile covering the ground, and the dead couple muffled into a corner. Crimson of their blood mixed with the vibrant colors of their clothing. They looked handsome and young, only recently married or something, holding hands even while their dead eyes looked at each other. It stirred something in Sybrand, from a past that never happened. Why didn't they flee towards Blachernae?

Instantly driving the emotion from him was a high pitch screech coming from a two mouthed lump of gretchin. Charging from beneath a lump of blood clothes, strips of flesh handing from its teeth and wielding two wickedly carved blades the gretchin covered the ground quickly, evading two shots from Sybrand's lasgun which further shattered a broken table instead. Slashing with its knives it drew blood, cutting into Sybrand's calve even as he punted it in the face, sending it tumbling across the floor. Two shots, one hit, no more gretchin. At first glance.

Cunningly taking advantage of the distraction another gretchin had snuck closer. Only noticed when it began stabbing ankles left and right, doing relatively little damage due to native armor, though it would require disinfection later on. Killed by a panicked native, at the cost of his own foot in a ground ward swipe. Sybrand ordered, as far as language permitted, one native to bandage the wounded one and return to them. The wounded native attempted to refuse, actually trying to walk it off.

'The Emperor Protects the Saints of His Victory.' Sybrand prayed before moving deeper into the house, keeping his gun at the ready. Exiting the living room he walked into a small corridor bending to the left, a window slit to the right. Wall and window showing signs of lasgun damage. Squatting down he made sure the natives did as him.

'Now careful, no black on black, no friend on friend, no…ugh never mind.' Moving forward, past the window he didn't stand up until he peeked around the corner. The corridor continued for another nine meters with three doors on both sides. At the end stood a staircase going up and down while also branching to the left in another corridor. Shots cracked upstairs.

'You and you, take the left door. And you and you take the right door. The rest of you wait with me until bad things happen. Understood, no? Well I war plow your mom and sister. Now attack, attack, kill, kill, Emprah, Emprah.' For a moment Sybrand felt conflicted; harsh and cynical yet protective and caring. Must be what the Emperor feels Sybrand considered before pushing it away like a real Saint. He needed to focus, badly.

Like true amateurs the natives rushed in, not even timing their entry properly. And his failure as their superior to do it for them. There was nothing though, they shouted as such before coming out. Moving forward Sybrand halted before the second set of doors ordering a repeat but using different men. Again there was nothing. Moving forward a trio of shots fired through the left corridor. Giving the signal Sybrand sends more men to check the rooms. Only the right side gave the all-clear. From the left room came no sound, even as their compatriots called in their native language. Keeping the door in his sight Sybrand quickly grabbed a grenade, then, reconsidering, grabbing another one. Pulling the pin he threw them both into the room. Waiting for a few tense seconds during which there was no reaction until the double explosions, joined with a loud roar. Before Sybrand could further react a native rushed past him, revving his chainsword quickly followed by two more. Looking down his barrel into the room he was just in time to see the two Orks dismembered. Two native soldiers, necks snapped lying on the floor. One of the soldiers, face twitching and blood spattered all over his clothing, turned to a dead body on the ground. Carefully taking the man's head between his arms, hugging him and rocking back and forth. Family. The same jaw.

'The Emperor Protects the Saints of His Victory.' And Sybrand moved on.

Just as he reached the end of the corridor he waited, keeping his gun trained at the staircase before looking around the corner into the corridor on the left using a Guard issue mirror. An Ork jumped down the staircase, carrying a looted lasgun. Firing its weapon while still unbalanced the beams whipped past Sybrand, hitting a native behind him. Shooting thrice he killed it, another Ork charging in behind him, coming right for him. Two shots, hiting the Ork once in the chest Sybrand's battle bred reflex brought his weapon up horizontally, blocking the cleaver but rendering itself beyond repair. The Ork's momentum pushed Sybrand against the ground. Using his battered gun to keep the dying xeno at bay as it snapped with its tusks Sybrand was hit by the beast's rancid stentch. A sickening aroma of month old sweat, stale beer, mushrooms and rotting food. Tears running down his face Jaws chewed through the Ork's spine in revenge. Raising his chainsword in defense he blocked a wounded Ork that had followed the first one down the staircase. Two cracks from a lasgun and the beast went down. Pushing the dead Ork up with the help of another native Sybrand saw Lieve approach through the left corridor, covering the staircase, followed by more native soldiers. Helped with getting the corpse off Sybrand got up and drew his backup weapon, a laspistol. There was movement upstairs and Lieve opened fire up the stairs.

'All hail!' Faticidus shouted.

'The Saints- no wait!' Sybrand shouted as a native rushed past him. Only taking a few steps shots were fired. Jaws froze, stopped dead in his tracks as lasbeams shot overhead. Only for the native coming up behind him to run into him, chainsword chewing through the chainmail on Jaw's back. Jumping back he fell on his own back, losing control of his unruly weapon it chewed through his throat and jaw. Flailing in pain he destroyed his right hand. Letting go of the weapon it turned itself off. Dropping his gun, safety on, and jumping forward Sybrand pushed it away.

'Get a medicae here Lieve.' Sybrand ordered, pushing down into the gushing wound, grabbing his small medicae kit with his free hand. Lieve didn't hesitate and used his micro-bead. Depowering his weapon Jaws stepped further down the stairs, Faticidus following carefully behind him.

'This guy is also wounded and we got one of ours upstairs, Lieve was it?' Lieve nodded rapidly as he talked to someone.

'Three wounded and some minors Sunny. The Emperor protects, no realy Saints here.' He said before growling something about 'the brightside' before snapping to attention.

'Yes lieutenant…yes lieutenant…yes lieutenant I understand.' Lieve said as Sybrand stood up from the dead native, making a prayer for the warrior's soul.

'Sunny, only two wounded now.' Turning to Sybrand Lieve looked in his eyes. They were unfazed, completely normal. And that scared him.

'Dame Julia is coming here, getting a view from the top floor, she's getting an autocannon up here as well. There's a problem. Some Swarm bastards that overran Pol's position stole at least one their chimeras and are stalking the streets. _Alluminum Valk _apparently took out one of Twans chimeras. She wants you to go up and take a look Sybrand.'

'Understood. Fatidicius take care of things down here will you?'

'Sure. Do you know if they're bringing in any food Lieve? Chems work we'll enough but some actual breakfast would be good.' The Saint asked as he had one of his men check up on Jaws.

'I have no idea.' Lieve said as he took a small container from one of his pockets. 'But I do have some candy.' Gratefully the Saints took a proffered treat, even a few of the natives shared in.

'Comf ohn less goh up.' Sybrand motioned for Lieve to follow him. Going up the stairs they passed two Saints, one of them with a wounded shoulder, though he seemed stable, two dead Orks and a Storm Sworn nearby. Lieve offered candy and Sybrand decided to take another one as well. He also grabbed one of the lasguns laying on the ground.

'Mine fell to the enemy.' He added as explanation.

'The other one is mine.' The wounded Saint, twenty or something, said between his teeth. Sybrand grabbed the other one. Reciting the _Litany of Reloading_ he acquainted himself with its machine-spirit. Continuing in silence they came across more corpses. At the very top they found a luxurious set of room. It was the site of the native guards' last stand. Dying against impossible odds in protection of the family of the house. The mother lay dead over her two daughters, both of them shot in the back of the head with two soloshots. Dead before they knew what hit them. The Commissar had granted the same mercy to the ginger boy they captured before executing the rest. Approaching a balcony they looked out over Accrearres's savage frontline. Grabbing a simple magnocular from his kit Sybrand put it infront of his eyes.

'Cover me.'

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

The Swarm's artillery continued firing blindly into the city. Accrearres burned on both its sides, the rising smoke columns rose, fusing into one well above the ground. Creating cover for Warp spawned abominations prowling above the battlefield. The fire helping to keep the chem cloud away from them by sucking in air, hindering the Swarm further, if the Saints there managed to avoid them. Sybrand wondered what would have happened if the center had been burning as well. Would the cloud have been carried right up the city, screwing things up badly? Did Tjitse know this beforehand?

Plasma fire drew his gaze towards the right flank. Looking at the source he Neeltje, Freterik and Eefje on the right flank had been pushed back a good eighty meters away from the walls. Looking to the left he saw the glow of Red's plasmagun on street level, the Saint himself hidden from view, firing at something closeby in rapid succession. Anke, Tjeerd and Sytse fought there as well but were pushed back further than the right flank, well over a hundred and ten meters, it wasn't very far far from leveling with the center where Julia, Twan and the remains of Pol's platoon fought. Fifty meters away, more than two thirds of the way in, there was multilaser fire. It fired inward, towards the Saints. _Aluminium Valk_?

Hearing movement Sybrand put down his magnocular and turned around. Julia, Eomund, the admirably self-controlled blond kid from Tjitse's failed parade, cadet #1, two Saints carrying a disassembled autocannon and two more carrying ammo and a large voxset arrived in the room. The Saints setting up their gear at the balcony.

Sybrand and Lieve quickly saluted. Julia motioned them inside the room for Sybrand to give his findings. As _Mariken's March_ began playing again and the autocannon opened fire Sybrand almost had to shout, but managed to quickly and accurately inform Julia. She looked off in the distance.

'Our left flank hasn't been pushed back. We're shortening the line and Tjeerd's platoon has been pulled back to Blachernae. Eefje as well, but if Tjeerd goes by his reputation-'

'He does.' Sybrand said, it was a smart move on Tjitse's part. Displeased the cadet stepped forward looking into Sybrand's eyes.

'Do not interrupt your superiors again.' Raising an eyebrow Sybrand looked at him for a moment.

'Understood.' He said before Julia resumed.

'He's sending them into the tunnels, after the civilian refugees. You've seen it; think it can hold all of us?'

'Probably, what I saw the base is about the size of a small city.' The cadet subtly put his hand on his holster. Sybrand expertly suppressed his laugh. They were forbidden from revealing anything beyond the first level of what was underneath Blachernae. Of what Tjitse and the Commissar are doing there.

'We're making the Swarm pay heavily for every meter while we burn Accrearres to the ground. And then use the base's tunnels to regroup beyond the mountain's base, regroup with Lotte's force and counter-attack up the mountain. Haak disagrees and-' The sergeant has no place questioning his superiors orders.' The cadet said harshly.

'Don't interrupt me again _cadet_. Haak thinks we should retake the walls instead. Your opinion on the plan?' Julia's smirk was invisible to cadet behind her. Though not an officer Sybrand was a sergeant from the old regiment. In mutual agreement with Nuyens he agreed not take a promotion so he could serve under the heroic young officer's command. On Sherxis Gerard had once referred to him as Tjitse's nursemaid and the company's best hope. _Nova's _beverages were a soldier's luxury that made it all worth it though.

'Ruthless and effective, very much in Tjitse's character, though it won't get him king of the year award. At the cost of the city our company will keep its casualties down. The walls are too battered to be much use by this stage, especially with the chems. Plus if we're not busy retaking them right now with all our reserves committed, we won't do so anytime soon. And I don't see too much merit in a halfway option.' Julia nodded her agreement.

'Do these people know exactly what Tjitse's plan is?' Sybrand asked though he knew the answer, he wanted the lieutenant's reaction. Julia shook her head, her face rigid and cold, this wasn't the time for weakness.

'Pyt's at Blachernae overseei-' Multilas beams impacted the balcony.

'Suns and Eagle!' Eomund yelled out as he dove for cover and the stream of fire destroyed the vox system, killing at least one Saint, and severely wounding the other as well. The Saints curses muted when the autocannon returned fire. The gunner and loader escaping death by inches as the enemy targeted them. Until the multilas fire stopped, quickly followed by the autocannon.

'Rusting Orks, desecrating everything they can get their claws on. Once they're purged our own sentinels and chimera's can flank the Orks via the chemcloud. Any suggestions to audit them Sybrand?'

'Can you miss your meltagun lieutenant?' Julia looked at her weapon, stroking it before taking off the strap and handing it to Sybrand.

'Only if I get it back sergeant.'

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Meeskers walked through the chems, his scout sentinel designed to be silent. Across the sound of battle and the _Great Wolf's Hunt _he wasn't heard. Keeping half an eye on the chem surface, making sure it stayed well below the edge of _Majestic Prowler's_ cockpit. The level had dropped as the chems flowed down Accrearres. Collecting in pools where it was trapped and couldn't flow any further. Pushed around gently by weak winds or rising in great plums only to fall back down again when houses collapsed or cannonballs impacted.

The good news being that Accrearres' stench was suppressed.

Hunting, alone after Fury's execution, through the shadowy streets the twin suns were only now rising high enough to dispel the darkest shadows. When he heard about _Aluminum Valk _he quickly turned off his lamplight. Searching via auspex, and sound.

A meltagun's distinctive hiss-roar made Meeskers focus his ears. Less than twenty meters away. Close to what he presumed to be a blacksmith on his auspex. Loud _cracks _indicated otherwise, multilas. Auspex went hot. It was moving. Coming closer.

Meeskers stepped backwards into a cul-de-sac, careful of not dissolving. Finger on the trigger. Then the disjunction came into view. Sound and image did not correspond. Image turned left, deeper into the city closer to the wall. Yet its engine sound rumbled only a few meters further away, turning to stationary as the image of _Aluminium Valk_ did. Meeskers breather out, there was no indication he was seen. _Aluminum Valk_ fired at the Saints positions further up. But the sound came from near. The damage was all too real though. Meeskers ignored the image, listened, and pulled the trigger.

_Aluminum Valk_ exploded, pierced by _Majestic Prowler's_ lasbeam, just a few meters away from Meeskers, the heat washed over him, making him squint. The location of its illusion birthed the sound of the explosion and consuming flames. Meeskers smiled predatorily, exhaling deeply through clenched teeth, a savage euphoria rushing through his veins. This is where the Emperor wants him to be, this is what the Emperor wants him to do.

Meeskers looked once more at his prey as he stalked off, and blinked, stopping dead in his tracks. Ignoring the burning wreck he cocked his head, slowly approaching to get a better angle. But the smoke obscured it, picking up speed he began to move closer, rejecting the whispers across the vox until he was positive.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

At L4 Osissis' gamble hadn't backfired as horribly as he thought. _Mutants Flagship_ had closed the distance, damaging _Blazing Light_ with its weapon batteries. The _Blazing Light's_ lance had cut through its shields, yet had done little damage to the large and bulbuous space-faring tumor. Getting inside its firing arc the _Mutants Flagship_ had ceased its weapon battery fire, launching boarding craft and even two boarding torpedoes from two ziggurat like protrusion on its…whatever. Stranger are its two gargantuan harpoons. Confirmed to have been looted from a Mechanicus mining ship it shot a flexible, thin, relatively, but very long and incredibly strong cable. Mutants, with or without vac-suits, carrying heavy packs of melta charges and repurposed construction gear hooked on to the line, zipping towards the crippled Imperial frigate on the other side, beginning the process of assimilation.

At that point _Uhmy'iiitaahz_ turned upon _Mutants Flagship_ using its rapid fire coilguns and fighta-bommas. _Mutants Flagship _returned fire and pulled back its own motley assortment of attack-craft but maintained the cables.

Not pondering upon the way's of the Xeno and the Mutant _Blazing Light_ seized its chance. Osissis prayed on behalf of ship and crew for the _Blazing Light's_ Protection.

Turning to his own section of the battlespace he focused upon the one and a half kilometer long _Ship o'Plenty_ picking up speed. Going to do its Duty unto its very destruction. Osissis respected it and its crew. At best sacrificing themselves, taking an Archenemy ship with them, at worst being little more than a glorified decoy.

Ahead the ominous specks of the Chaos fleet approached, hundreds of thousands of kilometers away but approaching fast. Firing torpedoes their weapons were closer and approaching faster. Each a hundred meter long powered by a plasmacore that doubled as a warhead. Armored and protected by a few simple point defense emplacements and directed by a will, whether Xeno, Machine or Unclean he did not know.

Opening moves, that's what it was. The torpedoes would be evaded or intercepted, but forced the Navy to change its position, to react in somewhat predictable manners, opening themselves up to follow up attacks. It's very much a mathematical game, and for once those muddwellers at city #2 were useful.

Their solutions were part of the reason why Osissis had send the _Ship o'Plenty_ forward. Disrupt their positions, their firing vectors, their plans, if they had any.

And to see if the dead ship really was that, a dead ship.

Osissis received a mental note. Stef's squadrons would be ready to launch in three minutes. More important was that one of _Steadfast's_ eight remaining marauders would be unable to launch, it had begun to fall apart after arrival, its machine-spirit holding on tenaciously until its crew was safe.

But the losses wouldn't distract them; instead it would sharpen their Hatred.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Ignorant of the general situation, bleeding, tired with no ammo and only bayonets left, the platoon banner, symbol of Duty, hanging like a cape around his shoulders and repeating the _Litany of Hate_ Pol stood upon the battlement in the fullness of his of Faith.

His moment of battle mysticism ended when a harpoon shot in between his legs, grappling hooks shooting out to secure it against the battlement.

'Yo, Lieutenant Pol over here, over here!' Meeskers shouted into a voxhorn, flashing _Majestic Prowler's_ lamp and honking repeatedly. Standing atop the debris of a collapsed dwelling the sentinel stood at its full height, well over the chems. After his initial, open jawed, surprise Pol didn't waste any time moving down the cable. There was a tense moment as a gargoyle appeared to swoop down upon him but Meeskers drove it off using a back-up lasgun. Pol reached the sentinel, hauling himself up on the sentinel's cage smiling widely at a mirroring Meeskers.

_The Emperor Protects_

'Here, I think you can use this better than me Lieutenant.' Meeskers offered Pol the lasgun which the latter eagerly took after safely stowing away the banner.

'Bringer of death, speak your name, for you are my life, and the foe's death.' Pol spoke the_ Litany of the Lasgun_ as a greeting to the weapon's machine-spirit, tracking it across an imaginary horizon. Meeskers guided _Majestic Prowler_ back into the city.

'What's your name trooper? Call me Pol by the way.'

'Well Pol I'm Meeskers Haegijer.'

'Meeskers, thank you for saving me. Without vox and hidden by the smoke I didn't think anyone would see me and I wouldn't have made it back on my own to continue my Duty. I'll convince Messen to give you some more rations.' Pol said searching for something unholy too kill in the Emperor's name.

'Actually I'm just a bayonetchucker in lieutenant Jan's uhm Julia's platoon. Honno died just after Tjitse was martyred and I uh…took _Majestic Prowler_ here…' There was a sad undertone in his voice as he lovingly petted the sentinel. 'For a review in the damned audit. So…if you co-' But Pol interrupted him.

'You're one of Messen's Saints Meeskers. Absolutely.' Pol said firmly. Meeskers petted _Majestic Prowler_, intensely relieved. Coming closing in on the Saints' right flank, the closest Imperial troops, they could make out _Exaltation of Duty_ over the fighting.

'How did you find me by the way?' Meeskers was quiet for a moment, there really wasn't a good way to say it so he'd just have to say it.

'_Aluminum Valk_ fell to Swarm. I granted it mercy. And then I saw you in my crosshairs.' Voice heavy with emotion Pol finally replied.

'I understand.' He coughed, regaining more control. 'How's my platoon?'

'Better than Jan's. Twan, Julia and some of Tjitse's staff counterattacked into the Swarm and you already know about the chems.'

'True, I helped guide the Navy in. Is Tjitse with Twan and Julia?'

'I…well…' Meeskers checked to see if there weren't any commissars around as _Majestic Prowler_ walked on, ignoring the few individual Storm Swarm they came across. Pol chuckled, firing at and killing a Storm Sworm in red laminar armor, sending the skittish gretchin into hiding. A smallish Ork hesitated before jumping through a window into a house. The mutants followed quickly enough, only a Warpbeast attacked, flinging itself forward and being crushed underfoot.

'Trooper watercooler says Tjitse found something big underneath his new palace and that he's still there.' Pol simply uhumed, as an officer he already knew about that, but couldn't let Meeskers know. 'We're all being pulled back to it that's for sure. Thinks we're going to sneak through the tunnels underneath, link up with Lotte and attack these bastards in the rear after we made them bleed.'

'I understand.' Things must be bad if Tjitse is willing to sacrifice his prize is what Pol didn't say. No need to alarm the dog-soldiers. Turning a corner they walked into a long street at the end of which there appeared to be fighting. Pol fought off a gretchin jumping down, though considering its wounds it was probably kicked off, knocking it over the side and onto the ground in between the dead. Meeskers got on the vox, heralding their arrival to the Saints. The end of the street was packed with Storm Swarm, mostly Orks, throwing themselves at some natives in a spear wall around the corner. From the surrounding buildings Pol could also make out fighting including a Warpbeast that was barely contained. Shotguns boomed in the mêlee. Switching on his lamp and chuckling maniacally Meeskers stepped onto as many of the panicked enemy as he could. Pol's contribution was mostly for show until they made their way past the spears. Gently, relatively speaking, pushing them aside the formation was jumbled, Pol preventing the Storm Swarm from exploiting it.

Past the lines they made their way to a small square, little more than the courtyard of a merchant. There they found Freterik, Dirk close by, at a command post doubling as medicae station, open air mess hall and concert as the _Imperial Battle hymn of Tempestus _was sung by machine-spirits. Another Ork salvo pushed it into the background before resurfacing.

'Pol, I thought the Navy got you. Those interns can't do anything right.'

'I'm happy to see you to Freterik.'

'Yeah well, I suppose you want to go back to your platoon.'

'And miss you? Well, if the Emperor demands it…' At which Freterik gave a barking laugh.

'I informed Tjitse, your platoon should know you survived by now. Dirk here is coming with you, some of your platoon's machines fell into damnation and Sybrand apparently lost Julia's meltagun. Wish I could send that cadet with you. What's his name Dirk?'

'He uhm doesn't know it lieutenant. It's a prize until after his final exam. His designation is #2.'

'Oh, and when's this final exam then?' Pol asked, indulging his sin of curiosity.

'Now.'

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

A message from the _Steadfast _gently nudged against her mind, its sides softened, low priority. Sparing a glance she saw that it was about the _Blazing Light_, poor Smoky, before focusing. A trio of missiles, hers, 0% remaining (right pod damaged), 20% heat, and Scion Secundus and Quintus, flew across the void towards the massive torpedo many kilometers away, approaching fast. Missiles nearing the torpedo the weapon unsheathed its point defense turrets, laser and coilguns, in defense. Tracking their targets and firing they revealed their position to the lightnings. Seizing their opportunity they fired their las cannons, 95% remaining, 22% heat, at the turrets. Destroying two las and one coilgun turret on the torpedo's flank before pulling up hard, staying out of the weapon's potential blast radius. Three follow-up fighters from her Scion squadron fired their missiles into the torpedo's blind spot before peeling off themselves. The one remaining coilgun turret locked on to one of the missiles and managed to destoy it quickly. Turning to another missile it started firing, missing. Stef clamped down on her auspex's, receiving signal that her squadron did likewise. Striking the torpedo at least one missile damaged its plasmacore, breaching containment, sending a jet of plasma through the weakspot one millisecond before the entire weapon catastrophically failed the next.

Congratulating each other on their teamwork the squadron extended its radiators. The other torpedoes and fighters were far enough away too risk it. Stef opened the _Steadfast's _message, it was about the _Blazing Light_. Capturing her falling heart Stef shared the information with her squadrons. Mentally applauding she had a slaved fight-attendant in the _Steadfast's_ mindtrix translate and relay the sentiment to the captain, humbly asking for it to be delivered to the _Blazing Light_.

A large hololithic display of the battlespace floated inside the _Steadfast's_ inner sanctum, Under Debate's auspex blind spot filled in by the muddwellers. Its machine-spirit displaying information normally invisible to the human senses. Radiation, electro-magnetic fields, Warp overlay, groundside data, Lagrange points and gravity currents.

For Osissis, and for most serving in the inner sanctum, it was a ritual. Enmeshed as they are via their implants. Only the youngest cadets were not yet so blessed. Stef's request, however justified, warranted only little of the ship's attention, especially now that _Ophelia Ranger_ had its second a firing solution on the _Herald of the Unknown Birth_. It fired its lance just as Osissis passed the message along to City #2 for it to relay to the _Blazing Light_.

The muddweller below actually had the gall to start making suggestions. Wanted him to land transports to pick up some muddwellers and ferry them over to_ Blazing Light_, muddwellers and their sense of scale. Receiving _Ship o'Plenty's_ communiqué with its findings on the dead ship. Completley ignored by the Chaos frigates, safe for some distant potshots, barely flaring its shields, it had reached the derelict from, Emperor willing, safe distance. But everything came back cold. Reluctantly Osissis asked for its troop and transport capability. Anything could tip the balance on _Blazing Light_. And if need be the armed transport could go toe to toe with a crippled frigate. It might actually win.

Osissis flared his nostrils. Detecting a large explosion at the _Herald's_ bow both ships held their psychosomatic breath as data flooded in. Somewhat disappointingly the lance had cut through the shields only to detonate a freshly fired torpedo. They got a return on some floating debris, but couldn't tell if it was from the torpedo or the Chaos frigate. Distant weapon batteries fired, going wide of _Ophelia Ranger_ but forcing it into slightly more predictable trajectories, increasing the chance of a future hit.

A confirmation arrived from _Blazing Light_. Inside its guts Naval armsmen fought a desperate battle against the mutant boarders. An existential fight for the ship as it had managed to destroy _Mutants Flagship_. With the both of them fighting _Blazing Light_ threw its bow sunward, actually using _Mutants Flagship's_ harpoons to steal momentum. The cost was armor plating, exposing its innards to _Mutants Flagship_, as well as a few hundred boarders. Fighting _Uhmy'iiitaahz_ it didn't, couldn't, take advantage and finish it. In an even more daring move the frigate continued to pull, apparently trying to escape but threatening to overshoot. Instead its exhaust destroyed _Mutants Flagship's _shield and then carving its way across its twisted surface even as _Uhmy'iiitaahz_ continued stomping on it. Too much. Secondary explosions bloomed in its rotting guts as it began to fall apart. Shortly afterward it exploded as its reactor failed, killing the monsterous Mutant-Emperor.

A genuine contribution to the Emperor's war-effort in the sub-sector. _Uhmy'iiitaahz_, crippled, even before _Mutants Flagship _clawed back in death-throes,was beating its chest in a delusion of victory. Despairing at the death of their dark messiah the mutant voidcraft threw themselves upon_ Uhmy'iiitaahz_ in suicidal revenge. Burning and heavily damaged the Ork's survival was up to chance.

A plasma warhead detonated two thousand kilometers away, destroyed by Reaper and Hawk combined. Only a few minutes later an infidel's first salvo got in a lucky hit against _Steadfast's _shields. Osissis hissed in sympathetic pain and rage, lip twitching. Containing the urge to rush forward and bring them into range of _Steadfast's_ two short ranged but potent lances Osissis kept the course. Waiting until the moment momentum would inexorably carry the enemy into the carefully hidden killzone. Not for the first time Osissis was glad that the Eldar cruiser had been devoured. He really hated the Eldar.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Pyt flashed his picrecorder, again, for something like the ten millionth time by Wazer's count. Freteriks platoon stood upon Blachernae's platform in the noon heat and relaxed after the last flash.

'One more.' Pyt said, keeping his camera in place. Only the presence of cadet #2, guarding the last of the native treasury, kept them from collectively groaning. Ten million and one. And the 79 fit survivors went down with their blackened machines.

'Isn't the machine-spirits memory full by now?' Talking loudly over the sounds of fighting and the _Beseechment of Martyrdom_ Wazer didn't look up from her Duty, noting down numbers in a large parchment codex. A drop of sweat ran down her nose and fell down. Ten million and two.

'Nope.' Pyt said bluntly but not unfriendly. 'It's a wonder of the Emperor-Omnissiah. These are historic moments dame. And I'm blessed by the Emperor to record them. These pics will resonate through the ages of this world. Truth be told I can't wait for tomorrow morning. When we come out of the tunnels at the mountain's base and make a glorious charge with Lotte's forces in the Swarm's back. It will be a glorious charge.' Awed by his sliver of immortality Pyt fondled his recorder before turning back to Wazer. 'Make sure you have everything in order, we're going down next as well. So you'll have to carry a bag as well.' As to lead by example the muddweller swung a brown bag over his shoulder, heavy with Emperor knows what. Standing up and wiping the sweat from her brow Wazer sighed, if there was one thing worse than being on a dirtball it was being below its surface. Down some dark hole into the ground, down there…

The rest may be blessed with Ignorance but she knew, she knew, the alien death below… Motioning at the blonde kid the soot stained boy jumped up from his position and ran towards the front. Telling Julia, Sybrand and Messen that their ride was coming up. Turning around Wazer started walking away.

'I'll inform Sunny that he'll have to prep his patients. It's now or never. You get this as much in order will you?' Without waiting for reply she continued on. She felt sorry these muddwellers. She couldn't imagine how it would be lose her home. For _Steadfast _to be overrun and burned by the damned… She shivered, a city wasn't a ship off course. But still.

Pushing past the plastic curtain she entered a short funnel. Closing her eyes and pressing a button, a potent ultraviolet sterilizing her sweaty skin. Exiting through another curtain at the end she entered the infirmary. Here lay those that couldn't be moved to the main infirmary below. The typical medicae smell was pungent with death and the sounds of the dying.

Looking at their faces she saw the fear of the sinner and the acceptance of the humble. Some even looked hopeful. Sunny hummed along with the _Beseechment_ as he danced in between the beds, two field medicae's supporting him. Sunny turned around at the new arrival.

'Mar? Oh, its you. Not that I'm not happy to see you dame Wazer.' He beamed at her before his face darkened. 'Though we'll have to start moving them to the throne room then. Oke mo's, give them enough sedatives and painkillers for the trip. Could you help me keep trooper Claesen down. He doesn't like needles.' Smile back at its previous level he put on thin white gloves and took an empty syringe from the gurney. Filling it with a good dose in front of the trooper's eyes as he started whistling. Definitely brain damaged in the crash last week. Emperor help her, it was a life time ago. Holding down the weakly struggling Claesen down Wazer prayed while Sunny deftly injected the chems.

'He's a recent arrival from the fighting. I didn't have time for an IV drip yet.' Claesen quickly sank down into a half-sleep, a stupid grin on his face as Sunny handed him his adamantium balls. For the first time his smile had fully dissipated. 'I hope Mar shows up quickly.' But as he turned to another patient it quickly resurfaced. 'Could you start unlocking their wheels dame?' Wazer looked confused for a moment, wheels? But then she understood and got to work. Doing what she could to feel useful on Undeb. Doing what she could not to look the Saints in the eyes. Too real.

'Who needs last rites Sunny?' Wazer turned around, jumping back in shock and stiffing a yell. Sunny looked wild-eyed before whooping and applauding with gloved hands.

'Nice, nice. Well done preacher. Father Piers would've been proud of you. You're a real _Alter Autocrator_. And this is the man in most dire need of your benefices.' Sunny said radiantly. Mar beamed back at him, blushing. Which made him even redder. Naked, covered in tiny wounds and covered in so much blood that it dripped onto the floor, forming a small puddle Mar stood proudly before turning over Claesen. The _Book of Illumination_ around his neck still worked, giving off a red glow with dark shapes moving behind it. Bending over the Saint he began the last rites.

Wazer turned around and exited as quickly as her weak legs could carry her. Reaching the throne room she saw the first squads of Saints reach the throne room. The boy and Eomund led the last native warriors back. Their eyes were hollow and distant. The sounds of battle were louder and closer.

Klaas carefully pulled the remarkably intact company banner down from _Nova_. Thim looked up to him from the ground, sipping some ice water, ready to drive it into the throne room once it was removed. Supported by Dieuwke, cadet #1 and Mar lieutenant Pol's Saints would hold back the Storm Swarm at Blachernae itself. Facing off alone against them until the last ride down. Leaving the place ready to detonate.

Approached Pyt the man turned around to her. 'The platform just reached the base, it should be coming back up soon.'

'I can't wait to get down there.' And she meant it.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Circling each other at ever closer ranges the ships were rapidly approaching knife ranges. After a near direct hit by a torpedo the _Ophelia Ranger_ found itself having to switch to its weapon batteries in Under Debate's orbit against _Herald of the Unknown Birth_. With both their main armaments useless it came down to their modest weapon batteries. In the slogging match the light cruiser could take the punishment better than the frigate. Slowly the _Ophelia Ranger_ was winning.

The other two frigates had their hands free to focus on the _Steadfast_. The trio's dance was far more complex than the pair's. The Infidels weapon batteries whittled away at the _Steadfast's_ shields and body but were more accurate at shorter ranges. Any torpedoes launched could cripple the light cruiser, but any fired at range had a good chance of being evaded or intercepted by the lightnings. But for the _Steadfast_ to use its potent lances it had to get close. Right into their torpedoes. The glancing hit it managed to score on Delta had crippled the Infidel's auspexes.

'Zero.' The fight-attendant's monotone thought informed Stef as she was launched back into the void. Her Link quickly followed, launched from their own tunnels.

'Target Gamma-2.' She informed her Link, turning her craft onto an intercept course to the approaching torpedo. Feeling it up with her remaining weapon pod as a few kilometers away a salvo of anti-ship slugs mostly went wide. One impacted against the _Steadfast's_ voidshields, its energy drained.

'Overwritten by captain's orders. Link Stef you are instructed to intercept target Delta-3' Instinctively but bewildered Stef began to execute her new orders. _Steadfast_ could evade Gamma-2 without too much trouble, but would open itself up for a repeat from Gamma at almost point blank ranges. Too close for anything fancy Stef concluded.

'Fire, shoot it down. Protect the _Steadfast_.' Leading by example Stef launched Scion Prime's one missile and fired away with her las cannons, sharing the intimate firing details with her Link. But the torpedo's prow was well armored. Even the missiles that got through hardly nudged it off course before it course corrected. They kept firing even as they rushed into and through its blast radius, to no avail.

'It got through _Steadfast_, get ready.' Stef cursed physically while informing the _Steadfast's_ through her implants. They wouldn't have time for another pass. Meanwhile she and her Link began evasive action to dodge the torpedo's point defenses.

Able to turn around just in time to see the torpedo enter the _Steadfast's _perimeter. Weakened by the voidcraft the _Steadfast's_ concentrated point defenses destroyed the torpedo. Momentum carried the explosion forward before dissipating, only brushing against _Steadfast's_ skin. Osissis waved the pain off in contempt, evading another torpedo and gunning for Delta.

This was it. Osissis gave the signal. The last handful of marauders launched, accompanied from his bulk by transports, hopefully confused for something more dangerous by Delta. While Delta could make the most out of its handicapped auspexes Gamma took advantage, entering a firing trajectory. A few seconds later all parties launched.

Osissis, intently focused upon the battelspace, tracking trajectories, chuckled. His chuckling grew into open laughter when the Infidels noticed the eight anti-orbital missiles shoot up from the mudball's polar regions.

'Hehehe. Damned Heretics, don't you know the Emperor Protects? And sometimes he actually works through the Guard. Hahahaha.' Osissis began to laugh louder as the Emperor's wrath began to consume the fallen vessels.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

Green lightning flashed across a storm and smoke filled sky. Thunder and the _Beseechment of Martyrdom _battling for dominance. The twin suns hanging bleakly in the sky as they raised the temperature. Continuous las and auto fire from the remains Pol's platoon was answered with the sporadic fire of soloshots, looted lasguns and heavy stubbers from the Storm Swarm. Not nearly enough to suppress the Saints' determination. Across the razed buildings the Storm Swarm advanced endlessly across the killzone towards Blachernae, the ground covered in a carpet of the dead with blood running downwards in small rivers.

'Blood for the Emperor, souls for His throne!' Mar repeated endlessly as he chewed up the Storm Swarm trying to break through the main barricade into Blachernae. By now he was soaked in blood and covered in chunks, standing ankle deep in blood.

'Blood for the Emperor, souls for His throne!' Pumped on faith and fire, and some Saintly chems, he glorified the Emperor. Cadet #1 stood almost two meters behind him, shotgun in her hand, blasting anything that got past Mar. The latter unaware of Dieuwke's sentinels trickling back to the throne room.

'Blood for the Emperor, souls for His throne!'

Cadet #1 didn't have much time to contemplate their tactical situation as an Ork with its face half chewn off got past Mar, trying to attack him in the back. After Emperor knows how long Pol called the final retreat.

'Blood for the Emperor, souls for His throne!' The lieutenant came down the stairs leading a squad of Saints, splattering into the blood. Promethium tank empty the flame trooper had switched to a lasgun but refused to abandon his dear weapon. Lasfire and bayonets holding the Storm Swarm at bay while the cadet braved life and limb to inform Mar.

'Blood for the Emperor, souls for His throne!'

Pol murmured the _Blessing of the Bomb_ as he set the final detcharge as lasbeams and soloshots flew past him. Nestling it between the stone archway some mutant remains.

'Move Saints, move now!' Pol ordered his men back as he kept to the rear, occasionally turning around for potshots at the howling insanity chasing at their heels. Mar was silent, mouth parted and in a world of his own as he ran beside them. Making their way through the formerly grand halls to the throne room, passing the scattered remains of almost fifteen hundred years of history, the Saints felt hopeful, almost exuberant. Explosions rippled behind them bringing down part of Blachernae.

Entering the throne room Mar revved his chainswords again.

'Blood for the Emperor, souls for his throne!'

Triumphantly leaving two dead frigates behind Osissis directed the _Steadfast _closer towards the dueling couple. The _Ophelian Ranger_ by now had a firm advantage over the _Herald of the Unknown Birth_ so Osissis took careful aim. But then his auspexes started going dark and a tremor reverberated down _Steadfast's_ Warp core. Diagnostics indicated nothing wrong with the machine-spirit's senses or processing. With dawning horror Osissis realized that the corpse-ship had drifted silently like a specter between their respective positions and was beginning its unholy feast.

Blood and other viscera dripped down the roof and walls, human entrails draped over the furniture and broken bones sticking into eye sockets and rib cages, flayed skin plastered against the walls and floor. Broken and shattered Dieuwke's sentinels were arranged in an eight-pointed star on the platform. In the center stood a small boy with three horrific mouths and no eyes holding hands with a large, horribly mutated Ork, teeth pushing through its eyeballs creating festering wounds that cried puss. Shredding the last of its matterium vision Iiikhen'Tuh spoke through the monstrous Ork in the innocent voice of a young human child.

'Eye iz cunnin', climmin' up da roks en all.'

And then both its puppets began to laugh in mocking victory while the platform began to descent.

* * *

><p>(-+-)<p>

(-+-)

As the one, and only, human being to have made a connection to the base's machine-spirit in almost fifteen hundred years Tjitse, and only Tjitse, had been allowed by Inquisitor Herder to communicate with it, to inload its forbidden data. On the surface he handled communication and anti-orbital weaponry for the Navy. Below the surface Tjitse quested for data caches of forbidden knowledge to be inloaded and packaged, trying, and gloriously failing, to be Ignorant. Of Xeno's and the Dark Age. Of the Fall and the Unconsumed Embryo of Damnation. Of the Archenemy and the Ordo Malleus. Of their Chamber-Militant and interrogator Arres. Strangely, the death of the _Ophelia Ranger_ reassured him, as opposed to the _Steadfast's_. At least he wouldn't die hooked to an Inquisitorial excruciator, trying to purge the sin of unholy knowledge from his soul.

Blam!

Tjitse almost jumped out of his comptrol chair as Serf's head exploded, covering the right side of his head not protected by meshgear. Hope saved the Astropath's weak soul from the Warp entity tunneling through its brain and into the comptrol room. Tjitse sensed the boltpistol, it almost pressed against the back of his neck.

'Status.' Hope demanded.

'Peachy.' Tjitse replied calmly as his mind entered the new corridor inside the machine-spirit, following it deeper and deeper into forbidden territory. Hope's gun did not waver. Or fire. Tjitse pressed on, not stirring a soul as he reached further into the alien depths with the fingers of his mind. Listening to translations of translations of translations he groped for meaning as he gave the carefully phrased command to save, or damn, or both. Seeing it turn and twist and activate things beyond his human understanding. In the deep abyss kilometer high pylons rose from the crushing depth, eldritch sigils burning on its surface untarnished by the passing of time, the freezing ocean around it devoid of life safe the rapidly dying micro-organisms. Further within the system grand green lightning storms ravaged the upper atmosphere of gas-giants, so fortuitously named Powers by the natives. Ancient Xeno defense systems, buoyant upon the deep gas currents and hidden by hard radiation, rose from their deep slumber and aimed at their anathema. Half asleep they listened for word from their copies, finding none due to the occulting whispers from the inheritors, before individually firing, cutting the corpse-ship's realspace body apart, while the strengthened barrier locked out its warp part. Uneasily they were being lured back to hibernation.

Quickly rising to the surface of his mindscape Tjitse launched the rest of his weaponry in desperation before coming up. Whizzing and clicking the chair opened up, pulling the audio, visual and haptic accessories as he disconnected his datacord, internal chrono ticking away at a blistering speed. Standing up on weak legs he wiped the cold sweat from his brow, the only sparkles coming from it, a relief, considering what to say.

'Commissar we should-' Tjitse began but was interrupted as the massive adamantium blastdoors began to buckle and twist, groaning tortured words.

'Fuck…' Tjitse finished.

'All hail…ME! I'm…back…for…you…TJITSE!' Red hot adamantium gave way, falling down into the comptrol room, melting or igniting the priceless equipment. But Iiikhen'Tuh's playthings were already fleeing through a side door. Running Tjitse fired over his shoulder and saw the blue plasma hang in midair halfway across the room before turning tar black. By chance Tjitse stumbled just as the daemon rebounded the shot. The dark matter appeared to suck out the light as Tjitse turned the corner the corner, a hissing scream and mocking laughter followed him even as specks of heat began to burn through his carapace.

'Back to the shaft!' Tjitse panted as Hope forced him to let go of her arm, he hadn't realized he had pulled her along, without stopping, pulling out a demo-charge and pistol. Tjitse wasn't worried, Hope understood, no field execution for him.

'Can you reach the rest?' Hope asked as deadpan as ever while priming the bomb. But Tjitse shook his head, not even bothering to try and open up the vox, knowing all too well what would enter his voxbead if he did. Hope looked around and timed her throw. It landed a few meters from the abomination, which simply continued laughing as it walked forward. Unable to run any faster they braced as best they could but the explosion was far stronger than anticipated, sending them flying across the rest of the corridor and landing in a heap against the wall. The laughter sounded above and beyond the ringing in their ears, as if emanating from their very mind. Tjitse looked through the smoke and dust and somehow saw Iiikhen'Tuh's relentless approach. Its maws seemed to widen and darken as he gazed at them, fixed upon his soul, ready swallowing and rend the wretched…

_No._

Hope grabbed him and together they fell through a doorway just as a wall of force surged down the corridor, slamming into the wall and sending them sprawling again. Tjitse coughed out the smoke and dust, allowing Hope to find him again. Painfully she grabbed him by the neck pulling him up and along. Glanding every drop in his system Tjitse blinked to get the dust out of his burning eyes as he painfully followed after Hope. Supporting each other from falling they made their way further, running from damnation as best they could.

Seeing a fire-team and some native support appear made their collective heart jump. Lowering their weapons when they saw who it was the corporal and a soldier helped them up.

'Central shaft, now!' Tjitse ordered hoarsely.

'This way sir.' The corporal said and started moving, not wasting a second, wisely he didn't ask anything. Pale and sweaty, like the rest, contained fear was etched on his face. Taking a swig from an offered canteen helped clear his throat. Not enough time.

'Have someone hold this corridor corporal.' Hope tilted her head to Tjitse but said nothing. Closing his eyes for a moment the corporal nodded and handed him over to another soldier.

'Marlinde, with me.' He said, taking position behind a pillar and aiming down the corridor. Revving their chainswords the natives stood their ground in the center. Making their way further to the central shaft there was the sound of a short desperate fight and that horribly mocking laughter for even trying. A second later a series of las shots streaked past them and they fell down, pushed to the ground by the dead weight of the Saints. Tjitse managed to untangle himself in time to see Hope shoot a foaming Marlinde. Helping her up Tjitse and Hope ran further, past the bewildered natives looking on apprehensively from side corridors, some asked their king.

'Run!' Hope boomed through her voxbox, the both of them failing to notice that she said it in Gothic. But their endless screams spoke of Iiikhen'Tuh.

'The price of failure… aeons of… AGONY…but now…REVENGE!' Tjitse felt the words carved into the back of his mind as much as he heard them. The laughter felt like pustules and charred scales pushing down on his mind, colder than the void as it began to flay away layer after layer after layer, making sure Tjitse remained whole and sharp enough to understand it all. Bleeding through the nose Tjitse and Hope staggered upon entered the central shaft.

Gargoyles and screamers flying around the edges of a charnel house in a hungry school. Tjitse hesitated but Hope did not, leading him into the swarm, firing her weapons. When hit the daemons left the school, charging the pair as they tried to cross the platform. The others ignored them, dancing to daemonic music that Tjitse could hear better and better as Iiikhen'Tuh approached. Blinking away tears of blood Tjitse brought down his cane in an electric arc that shattered the matterrium shell of a screamer diving for Hope. Following it up with a shot from his plasma pistol against a gargoyle trying to flank her. Taking another shot Tjitse managed to ash a gargoyle while Hope killed another.

'What now?' Hope asked as she continued to fight her way forward. Tjitse was about to answer when a chill ran down his spine. Iiikhen'Tuh stopped at one layer of Tjitse's mind. The silence followed by mocking laughter was worse.

'Yes what now fearless captain?' Iiikhen'Tuh asked teasingly as each daemon looked inward and began to laugh at Tjitse. 'How do you plan to win against me? Hmmm?' It asked again, smiling and laughing menacingly. Rapid multilas fire blasted through the rear of the swarm from one tunnel, miniature suns streaking from it as well as some mundane las shots, granting Tjitse a glimpse of _Nova_, his squad and Wazer coming to the rescue like big damn heroes.

'Captain this way!' Pyt called as he fired his lasgun, finishing off a screamer Sybrand had hit. Wazer kept her terror barely contained, her shaking aim missing most, one beam whipping just past Tjitse's head. Welcoming the mundane danger of friendly fire Tjitse and Hope ran for it, ignoring the human remains sloshing around their ankles in their urge to survive. A gargoyle, winged by Wazer, flew past them until Hope shot it in the back. They kept firing their weapons at the daemons that continued to ignore them, flying around the edges, and mocking them the harder for it when they managed to draw attention.

Tjitse's heart skipped a beat, a cloying, freezing breath passed over him, caressing his spine with predatory intent. Expertly Dirk fired one plasma bolt in between Tjitse and Hope, at Iiikhen'Tuh right as he entered the shaft. It hovered in front of the daemon for two short seconds before bursting like a bubble. The heat cooking the flesh and boiling the blood for meters around before the cannibal soup decayed to black sludge, sprouting tiny tentacles, mutated limbs and toothed orifices.

'You lost your Ignorance, and now you know.' Iiikhen'Tuh giggled in his sweet childlike voice as it cocked one of its heads, striding forwards, spreading the corruption with each step. Dirk's and Red's plasma weapons began to overheat, _Nova's_ multilas jammed, and all the normal las beams did little more than scold its skin. By chance Tjitse slipped on a piece of lung, sending him face first while Hope rushed onward.

'Yuu haz no burnin' Hate fo da enemy!' Iiikhen'Tuh declared in the rough, guttural voice of the Ork as Tjitse, dripping in blood and coughing up bits of human flesh, managed to get up, almost slipping again as he desperately followed after Hope. _Majestic Prowler _fired its lascannon from another tunnel, destroying one of the daemon's arms. Immediately a bloated, mutant head, a cruel mockery of Pol grew from the stump, smiling. It stopped and looked sideways with its new face. Immediately the sound of tortured metal echoed from the tunnel as the inherited sentinel began to fold in around itself, and Meeskers caught inside. Klaas, having manned the pintle mounted heavy stubber, fired at Iiikhen'Tuh, annoying it.

'You have no sense of Duty to the Imperium!' Iiikhen'Tuh said in Pol's contemptuous voice. From the charnel a blood soaked Mar stood up slowly, eyes completely blank, las beams and boltrounds missing him by inches. Hurling himself against the daemon head-first Mar made it stagger while the follow up punches and kicks pushed it back a step. Taking the punishment the daemon hissed, standing still before a wave of corposant cold sends the young priest flying into another tunnel and sending Hope, Tjitse, and the other Saints, sprawling again.

'You have no Faith in the God-Emperor!' Its multiple heads damningly concluded in father Piers' voice as Tjitse scrambled on all fours to reach his beloved _Nova_. Laughing maniacally through the voxhorn Ewout appeared from another tunnel in _Face-eater_, emptying the toxic chems from his containers. Acting like a chimney the fumes rose quickly up the shaft, dissolving the lesser daemons while annoying Iiikhen'Tuh, forcing it to stand still and keep the chems at bay. Motioning with one arm the daemon lord of Tzeentch pulled _Face-eater_ across the chamber. Tones of metal flew towards him Tjitse as he dived, too late…

_No._

Motioning with one arm the daemon lord of Tzeentch pulled _Face-eater _across the chamber. Tjitse dived, just in time, evading tones of metal. The banewolf scrapped _Nova's _paint with the sound of squeaking metal as it came to a halt.

'All you have is Hope, my favorite sustenance…' Iiikhen'Tuh hungrily growled before it started to laugh at the mortals again. Pyt and Sybrand moved forward, providing cover for Tjitse as he scampered across the floor. Tearfully Tjitse made a sigh of relieve as he reached the safety of his Saints in the tunnel, placing his hand on _Nova's_ front armor for comfort. The recoil from the heavy bolter felt soothing as it began to fire while the rest of his Saints fought to keep the Warp forces at bay. Raising himself to his full height Tjitse turned around and looked at the approaching Iiikhen'Tuh, laughing with its many hungry mouths as it withstood the desperate attempts to kill it.

'How than do you plan to win against inevitable odds Tjitse? How?'

Gripping his cane tightly in his left hand Tjitse stood up just as the massive blast doors protecting the tunnels began to close. A flick of his head and the visor from his cap protected Tjitse's eyes. Showing Iiikhen'Tuh the ring of rulers Tjitse's chest flared up again as he bobbed his middle finger up and down, grinning. Closing in a heavy _thump _the blast doors obscured the view from a grinning Tjitse, his internal chrono had reached zero.

'Anti-orbital weaponry.' He laughed triumphantly as at the surface the plasma warhead detonated, destroying the Swarm and Accrearres before travelling down the shaft and obliterating Iiikhen'Tuh from Undeb. At least in that regard the ad hoc plan was a success.

_Great._

_Oh yes…_


	15. Chapter Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Death…_

And as the withering gaze withdrew from the falling building the detritus swirled into his mirror statue before being broken by the howling winds of hopeful damnation into daggers of the future.

_Death…_

And as the decay began to spread ambitiously through beleaguered tunnels of carefully crafted probability into the hidden node it surged feebly before potently collapsing and gently piercing through the hazy veil of existence and impossible inevitability.

_Death…_

And the impossible rupture snapped, paralyzing and severing an organ of the beautifully active structure, ushering in the song of its destruction with the groans of its twisting entity, ripping itself apart in growing completeness, a piercing birth.

_Death…_

And shards of eldritch meaning and intrigue exploded from the widening failure as the dream collapsed thus creating ever changing constellations within and without the body of mind and soul and possibility crystallizing its unfolding wings.

_Death…_

And as it was crashing in several directions without losing the unity of its failure the collapse began laughing, slowly before rising, at everything, especially itself, as waves of mocking contempt washed over it, bringing it to ever more terrible crescendos, changing it ever more.

_Death…_

And in terrible hope the speck sticking across one line into the infinite geometry of the unformed reached for a formed shape to intersect with itself before drowning in hatefully laughing maws.

_Death…_

And as the dreaded thirst was being cheated by the laughter in the darkness of its predestined prey it abandoned and sacrificed a loyal part of itself as decoy and payment for the predators of the laughing Warp.

_Death…_

And it dropped its elegant sword and looked on in horrified acceptance as its crystalline and spiritual limb was being violently assimilated by the artifact in punishment.

_Death…_

And as it quickly rebuild its mental defenses via centuries of training and experience it could not stop one cardinal thought from leaking through and being sucked into the corrupted heirloom of the nigh extinct children of the fall where it was amplified, reflected and solved.

_Death…_

_?_

_Hope…_

_Great_

_Oh yes…_

_No_


End file.
